


SPRING

by Beap



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beap/pseuds/Beap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur and Merlin become sexually involved after seven long years, Guinevere's love for Arthur leaves her determined to find out what happened to them during that fateful Spring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seasons

Hunith wrapped the entire loaf of freshly baked bread. Glancing over her shoulder, she slipped the bread into her son’s haversack and placed another tunic on top. She then joined him at the window. A storm threatened. With eyes frightened for the days to come, she gazed upon the dormant landscape and at the winter skeletons that now passed for trees.

“Mother, can you feel it,” Merlin heralded the coming Spring. "Can you feel her energy in the air," he asked with excitement dancing in his own half-frightened eyes. “It’s like millions of little lightning sparks waking up the ground and shooting from the treetops to join the coming storms.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t feel it,” she sadly replied.

“It won’t be long, now,” he promised her. “We'll soon plant and the crops will grow. What food we have left will surely last 'til then.”

Hunith rubbed small circles on his back to soothe them both. “I’m more worried for you, my dear,” she voiced her fears. “I hate that you must always leave and when the storms are at their worst.”

Merlin placed an arm across her shoulders and drew her nearer. “You’ve always told me that I have nothing to fear. That it’s just the earth waking itself. Besides, I’ll be gone for less than a month.”

“I know," she said. "But you’ll be all alone and at your most vulnerable. The bounty hunters still come around,”

“Not often, Mother,” he quickly corrected to quell her worry. “Not for over two years, now. And I know the land and caves around here like I know the back of my hands. They don’t. I’ll be fine.”

She still worried. In her worry, she made a suggestion that surprised him. “I was hoping that you'd let Will go with you, this year, since I've learned that he knows about your magic.”

Merlin smiled down at her in disbelief. “And lose my only friend,” he joked but awkwardly shifted his feet. Embarrassed by the conversation with his mother, both knew that Spring aroused inside him far more than his magic. “Will would probably run from me, screaming in fear.”

“But if he’s a true friend, he’d stay and try to help ease you,” she reasoned.

"Mother," he voiced astonishment that she would suggest he seek comfort in another male.

"Better Will than all alone," she said, being far more worried for his safety and his suffering.

A distant rumble of thunder echoed in the skeletal trees. Merlin whirled his face back to the window as he proclaimed, “Spring is here! I can hardly wait to share her powers, after she lights up the sky!”

Hunith remembered a phrase she once heard as a young woman. “With thunder and lightning, earth creates her new life,” she repeated but her lips silently said the rest. "In the ultimate intercourse." She knew that her son was special to feel that intercourse with earth and yet it worried and saddened her. People of magic continued to be hunted. Her son was forced to keep his own a secret and she feared that he would never know another human’s love.

As Merlin turned from the window he noticed her sad and frightened face. He gave a gentle kiss to her temple along with the reassuring words, “I’ll be fine, Mother. Don’t worry about me.” Time to go, he went to the table to retrieve his haversack. Shielding it from her, he took out the wrapped bread. "I'll see you soon," he said as he slung the pack onto his back and then rushed out the door.

 

Three weeks later, the powerful energy that permeated the air now dissipated. The thunder and lightning storms grew less severe. Merlin knew that the worst had passed. A sexual desire that strained his body far beyond a normal human's limitation had passed, too. He stood among the skeletons and rejoiced in a lesser rain. With his magic sensuously mingling with the afterglows of earth’s ultimate intercourse, he reached his hands toward the heavens and admired her energy that sparked visibly from his fingertips and high into the sky. He had survived another Spring's beginning.

“Get him!” A voice yelled out.

Another said, “Don’t let him escape!”

A third ordered, “Surround him!”

Merlin whirled in a circle. Three big burly bearded men approached him from three different directions. Dressed in thick animal hides and dirty bear furs, the clothes told Merlin that the men spent most of their lives up in the snowcapped mountains -- hunting, trapping and skinning for fur trading…

The second man warned, “Be careful! This is a powerful one!”

The first proclaimed, “He’ll fetch us a king’s ransom!”

…and bounty hunting, too, Merlin now knew. But no match, he held out a hand and stopped time, itself. With the men frozen in place, he ran back to the cave and grabbed his belongings. Leaving no tracks as he ran for home but he knew that Ealdor would no longer be safe. The men had seen his magic. Had seen his face.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------(Seasons Later)--------------------------------------------------

 

“Damn it, Merlin,” Arthur shouted. The king of Camelot, he glared up from his dining table while laboring over Camelot’s financial figures. “Then, what about your ceremonial fleece,” he asked, offering him another solution.

Guinevere stood gazing out the chambers' window. Dressed in her own winter cloak, boots and mittens, she had hopes that Arthur would take a walk with her today. Overly burdened, he spared her so little time. A cold but brilliant day, she still found bits of happiness in the rare sunshine sprinkled amid a season of gloom. Her first smile all week, she followed the silly conversation going on behind her. “Merlin,” she interjected. "He means the coat that I had specially made for you, for our wedding.” As she gazed out the window, she saw a small crowd gathering on the snow-covered cobblestone. The little crowd lifted her spirits a bit more.

Merlin stood hunched and shivering in his time-worn jacket. Between yawns, he answered, “Oh. That fleece. It’s hanging in my room.”

“Then, hang it on your back,” Arthur insisted. “I give you permission to wear it, winterlong.”

“But it’s for ceremonies,” he objected, and to Arthur’s fourth suggestion.

"Damn it, Merlin," Arthur shouted, again.

Guinevere giggled, but more so at the pleasing sight, below. Sir Lancelot continuously tossed a snowball into the air. With each toss and catch, he playfully beckoned for her to come down.

Behind her, Arthur continued to yell at Merlin. “Reasoning with you is hopeless, this time of year,” he barked. Beyond annoyed, he went to his wardrobe and started rummaging. From the bottom drawer, he retrieved a wool-blend tunic, thick underpants and socks and then threw them at him. “I will not be subjected to another winter of your chattering teeth!” 

The underpants landed splayed upon Merlin’s head. Standing half asleep, he never saw the clothes coming nor did he make an effort to gather them together.

Arthur stood at his wardrobe while staring at him. He wondered how long it would take the dimwit to find the wit to take the underpants off of his head. His wait was short-lived. Guinevere playfully snatched them off in her joyous rush to exit. “A snowball fight is breaking out in the square,” she explained gleefully her rush.

“Guinevere,” Arthur called her in a cautioning tone. “Queens do not engage their subjects in snowball fights.”

The words nearly deflated her newfound happiness but she still managed to smile. “Don’t be silly, Arthur," she said from the doorway. "I know to keep my distance and just watch them.” The instant she closed the door came the sound of her quickening boot heels tapping on the flagstone.

Arthur listened to the sound speed and fade as he returned to his tedious task. He hated dealing with money matters. He hated dealing with food matters, too, and staff matters, and maintenance matters, legal matters and the list went on. A born warrior, he longed to be outside hunting, training or fighting bandits. As he sat while sighing in the endless boredom, he looked up to find Merlin still standing in the middle of the room.

Yawning, his hair sticking up from static, socks stuck to his jacket and the other underclothes crumpled near his feet, he awaited further orders.

Arthur sighed, again, at his winter stupor. "Merlin," he said in his sigh. 

“Yes, sire?”

“Get out.”

 

Guinevere soon discovered that watching a snowball fight was no fun, at all. It was more like torture. Her bits of happiness completely robbed, she returned to the royal chambers. Arthur was not there but Camelot’s financial papers still cluttered the table. Glancing at them as she removed her winter frocks, she knew that she had always been good with numbers. For years, she had happily maintained the forge’s finances.

A season ago her days were filled with hard work. Some of it was considered even a man’s work. Besides forging, she had cleaned, washed clothes, sewed and cooked for her brother, herself and often cleaned and made beds in the castle.

Now, her life was miserable. To her, a queen with no responsibility was hardly a queen. However, Camelot had no previous queen for her to emulate. Surely, she could help her husband with Camelot’s finances, she thought. After she shed her cloak and boots, she sat at the table and started studying the documents. She then gathered more financial scrolls from Arthur’s desk.

It soon became apparent to Guinevere. Morgana’s brief reign had taken its toll. Camelot was broke. She also discovered that few taxes had been collected on the fall’s harvest. A very prosperous harvest, too, she knew. Ample money to be had, Camelot's farmers sold their surplus to villages in the marsh and ship-fairing kingdoms with poor planting soil. Morgana had ordered their fields be burned, the commoners told their common queen, but the mercenaries had no quarrel with the farmers, they said. Those mercenaries that Morgana or Agravaine had sent to burn the fields simply filled a sack or two and moved on, seeking their next battle.

The moment Guinevere decided to advise Arthur to impose a new levy, he returned. “Arthur,” she started to advise him, looking up from the papers.

“Interesting reading,” he asked, interrupting and with a peck of a kiss to her forehead. 

“Quite,” she replied, and she lifted the papers eager to share her findings.

Arthur laughed aloud. “My beautiful court jester,” he said, implying that she must be joking to say that she found such tedious figures interesting. “No need for us both to fret over these,” he said and he spared her the drudgery by taking the papers from her hands.

Guinevere forced a smile at his joke. However, her forced smile became an enormous effort when he beckoned her up from his chair. Arthur never noticed. He stood frowning at the parchments in his hands while waiting for her to move. “Perhaps, you could have your maidservant bring me a bit of lunch," he asked. "Merlin is acting his usually dimwitted winter self. He failed to bring enough breakfast for one of us. Let alone, two.”

Slowly and reluctantly Guinevere rose. She changed the topic with him to disguise her hurt. “Merlin will be better by spring," she assured him. "He always is. Once he’s helped Hunith clear and till the soil for this spring's planting, he’ll return as the Merlin of old. The one that we all know and love.”

“If he earns a holiday, this year,” he replied, dismissing the conversation as he sat. Offhand, he added in an utter, “I’m beginning to think that winter physically changes him, somehow.”

Guinevere stared at him a moment as he sat hunched, muttering and frowning at the financial papers. She wanted with all her heart to help him but fearing another laugh at the maidservant who was trying to be a queen, she sadly offered, “I’ll get your lunch.”

She got no reply.

 

 

Something about Merlin definitely was different from other people, Arthur now felt convinced. He sat on his blanket chest at the foot of his bed while staring at him. The sixth winter they had known each other, Merlin had gotten worse. Winter had always left Merlin dull but now Arthur thought that he seemed as dead as the dormant terrain that surrounded the city. The precious sunshine failed to lift his listless haze. While all of Camelot rejoiced in the few spectacular days, including his wife, Merlin still walked about as if in a state of hibernation.

And cold. Perpetually cold. It seemed, another year older, another year colder.

So cold now, Arthur had given him warmer clothes to wear. The clothes did little good. Merlin’s teeth no longer chattered but Arthur watched him practically sleepwalk into the royal chambers, that morning.

Guinevere sat at Arthur’s desk. She basked again in the window’s rays and gently hummed in efforts to lift her spirits. While she hummed, her mind debated her best approach. She simply had to ask Arthur for more responsibility or die from boredom. Forcing her own cheer, she said, “good morning, Merlin,” in greeting.

“Huh,” came his almost catatonic reply. A breakfast tray in his hands, he walked over to the bed beside Arthur, stopped and propped himself against a bedpost. Within seconds, he started to snore.

Arthur continued to stare up at him from his blanket chest. In the middle of putting on his boots, he suddenly jumped to his feet while grabbing the teetering tray a split second before it dropped to the floor.

The snatch startled Merlin awake. Confused for an instant, he regrouped to see Arthur’s twisted and fuming face staring directly into his own. He then noticed the tray now in Arthur’s hands. “You didn’t have to snatch it from me," he grumbled. "I was already giving it to you.”

Arthur clenched his teeth to keep from yelling, “Get out.”

Guinevere laughed at more of their silly bromantic behavior. After Merlin had gone, she said, “Don’t be so hard on him, Arthur. You know that he gets like this, every winter.”

“It’s hard to believe that plowing fields in Ealdor snaps him out of it," he spoke as he put their breakfast tray on the table and returned to his boots. "Plowing fields in stormy weather, at that," he added while shaking his head to comprehend. "Merlin doesn’t strike me as the hardworking farmer type.” Without thinking, he asked, “Have you noticed his hands? They’re softer than yours.”

Guinevere was crushed. She fidgeted nervously with her own hands, resting in her lap. Noting their rough texture, she feigned humor and she joked, “You didn’t marry a princess, Arthur,” but her humor missed its mark.

Arthur heard retaliation instead and he whirled his face to look at her. Seeing the hurt in her slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, he suddenly realized what he had said and he apologized, “Gwen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply,” however, he stopped while searching for the right words.

“Imply what, Arthur," she asked sadly of him. "That I always will be a maidservant?”

“Guinevere,” he said, tenderly, as he stood with one boot on and approached her. “You are my queen and the love of my life. Don’t you know that?”

She fought the tears that had been stored inside her the season long. “Then, Arthur, let me help you," she finally asked.

“Help me,” he repeated, confused. “You’ve always helped me. You are my comfort in time of worry. My counsel, in time of doubt. You’re perhaps the wisest person that I have honor to know.”

“And yet, not wise enough to attend Camelot’s council or to oversee her finances or her harvest.”

Arthur furrowed his face at her. “And you wish to do these things,” he asked, stunned, since he certainly did not.

“Arthur, a queen with no responsibility is no queen, at all.”

He now realized that her sense of uselessness caused her tearing eyes. “I see,” he uttered, and he slowly paced before his desk. He also knew that wisdom and diplomacy were separate virtues. One innate but the other taught. All his life, he had been schooled in royal mediation. A maidservant had not. Concluding it his responsibility to teach her the finer points, he stopped pacing and gave her a broad smile as he said, “In three days the council is scheduled to reconvene after my much needed hunting trip. There, I will announce you sovereign, beside me. Please, Queen Guinevere, do me the honor of ruling Camelot with me.”

He extended his hand across the desk to help her rise. As he extended it, he gave her a suggestive ogle.

Guinevere smiled in earnest but subconsciously, she balled her hand and rubbed again at its rough texture before extending it to him. Engaged in a playful waltz around the desk, she followed his lead to their bed. 

 

 

The next morning, Arthur was furious. Long in need of his leisurely hunt, he stormed into Gaius’ chambers and demanded, “Where is that lazy idiot?”

Gaius sat before his cooking fire near the center of the room. Huddled with a blanket draped over his shoulders, he feasted on a steamy bowl of morning porridge. Calmly, he asked, “is something wrong, sire,” since he already knew the answer. Merlin was still in bed.

Arthur yelled, “I should have been out hunting an hour ago!”

Gaius nodded toward the steps. “I’m afraid, it’s the cold weather, sire,” he explained, although he refused to say more.

“I know that,” Arthur yelled, again. “I’ve endured his laziness for five winters, now. If you wish for him to remain my manservant for this sixth, then I suggest that you give him a tonic of some sort!” Turning to leave, he ordered, “If he doesn’t have the horses supplied and saddled to go in one hour, tell him don’t bother to come! Ever again!”

“Yes, sire.”

The instant Arthur slammed the door, Gaius put down his bowl and scurried up the steps. “Merlin!” He pulled the covers off his head.

Merlin pulled them back up. "I heard him. The whole castle did," he chattered out, feeling chilled to the bone. 

“Then, get up,” Gaius insisted, pulling them back off.

“Don’t worry,” he chattered again while huddling tighter under his covers. “Within the hour, Arthur will be thanking me. A blizzard is coming.”

 

Guinevere feared the fierce wind-driven sleet might break the windows. “Thank the heavens you’re not out in that,” she said to Arthur as she closed the window drapes to lessen the noise. “Or, shall we thank Merlin’s winter laziness,” she teased. Her spirits were high despite a major ice storm. She finally had her husband all to herself.

Arthur, however, resembled a trapped lion pacing in a cage. He practically growled at her teasing.

She remained undeterred by his attitude. Walking from the window, she happily suggested, “You can spend the time between studying Camelot’s laws with me and making you an heir.”

Arthur stopped pacing. Three days later and the land still iced over and slippery as… ice, he had forgotten about his hunt. He had also forgotten about firing Merlin. However, he never thanked him.

 

 

Guinevere was nervous. Her first court council since becoming queen a season ago, she dressed meticulously for the occasion in her finest royal gown. A beautifully crafted dress, Arthur commissioned that it be made for her, himself. Colored in Camelot’s brilliant red with countless gold strands shimmering about her neckline, down her sleeves and around her blossoming hem, she looked the envy of any queen. The dress, however, did little to ease her anxiety. As she sat in Morgana’s old council chair that she pulled closer to her husband's side, she found ample reason to be nervous.

A mixed audience, the older knights, nobles and a few commoners who had business that day showed their disapproval with condescending glances at their new sovereign. Many had spent a lifetime loyal to Uther Pendragon and did not want a maidservant sitting on the throne. Nor could they rightly respect their young king for placing one there. 

As Guinevere sat, she sought acceptance in the faces of the knights and commoners who knew her best. Elyan gave her small head nods of encouragement. While Gaius remained wisely neutral in his facial expression, Leon, Gwaine and Percival showed exceptional kindness in their eyes. Merlin simply yawned a lot. Lancelot, however, braved an open smile for her. That endearing smile drew her nervous attention, most of all.

The council’s first business concerned a legal matter. Two noblemen, Claudius and Devain Egnok, each claimed inheritance of their father’s estate and grain fields. Each also claimed Lord of Manor over the peasants who worked the land.

Lord Claudius rushed to speak first. “Sire, my brother has no claim here, whatsoever. He makes a mockery of your court by bringing this matter before you.” 

Devain countered, “Lord Egnok was my father, as well. I have an equal claim as Claudius.”

Guinevere knew that inheritance passed to the eldest son. Observing both men, wisdom told her that Claudius was at least ten years older. Seeking to exercise her new authority, she began to speak. “I believe that Lord Claudius is older and therefore, is,” but Arthur quickly yet calmly placed his hand upon her hand to silence her as he asked, “Lord Devain, by what reason do you challenge your brother’s inheritance?”

Devain answered with condescension dripping from his tone. “Granted, my lord, Claudius is much older as that is plain to see," he said and with a dismissive glance at the lowly maidservant pretending to be a queen. "But eldest by our dear father’s first wife. I am eldest by his second wife, and therefore, entitled to half of his estate.”

Guinevere’s heart raced. She had no knowledge of Camelot's law concerning such a circumstance. Inadequacy cowered her posture as her eyes wandered the room, searching for a friendly face. Arthur sensed her cower and he tenderly squeezed her hand but her eyes had already clung to Lancelot, still smiling bravely for her.

Arthur noticed their clinging connection. He noticed that others noticed it, too. He even noticed that Merlin had stopped yawning and had woken up a bit. From experience, Arthur remained unemotional but his words were an unmistakable chastisement to the one that he addressed. “Lord Devain," he said. "I’m afraid that you misinterpret Camelot’s law. Half of the estate, if Lord Egnok had no other sons by his first wife. But once a virile man, I believe he had three. Your inheritance, by law, is one-twentieth the estate’s current value and henceforth, divided equally amongst those surviving sons in the event of Lord Claudius’ unfortunate demise. That is, if Lord Claudius has no male heir of legal age, himself."

Lord Devain felt chastised, indeed. Five percent. He curtly bowed, turned and with his head forced high, he strutted from the council. Lord Claudius left, too, but showing a more pleased face.

With a curt dismissal of his own, Arthur immediately addressed the next person having business that day. Another legal matter, Guinevere remained silent. In fact, the next seven matters concerned the law and she offered no opinion.

Two hours of silently sitting settled her into feeling useless, again. Many in the council seemed to share her view. Those disgruntle souls who bothered to look at their new sovereign gave more condescending glances, as Lord Devain had done. The council growing weary, Arthur announced that old farmer Brilsing’s frozen cow would be the final business of the day.

Guinevere was suddenly disconcerted. What about Camelot’s finances, she thought. Surely, Arthur would announce a new levy. Camelot was broke. All that remained were his few personal funds hidden beneath his bed during Morgana's reign. However, those funds were dwindling fast. She had also heard Uther announce special levies often enough. 

After Arthur ruled no compensation to farmer Brilsing although his cow froze on his neighbor’s land, he started to adjourn the council.

“Arthur,” she interrupted and quickly stood, addressing the court. “I have a few words to say.”

“Gwen,” he whispered in meek objection, feeling caught between hell and his wife.

Guinevere, however, needed to show her mettle. Her love for Camelot was strong. With that same strength in her voice, she said, “Camelot is in financial distress. The brief reign of Lady Morgana wreaked havoc upon her coffers,” but she stopped, flabbergasted by the murmuring roar that drowned her out. Mainly, from the older knights and nobles. The others simply stared in shock. It was shocking news indeed, she thought, but at least she had gained their attention. And hopefully, their respect. She started to speak louder but Arthur had already come to his feet. Speaking first, he quickly announced, “The council is adjourned.”

“But Arthur,” she protested while turning to face him but the glance he gave her said hell had won.

Now in hell, Arthur gazed stoically over the crowd to gauge the damage done as he took Guinevere slowly by the hand. Calmly, he started leaving but once beyond the columns and into the king’s private exit, he paced so fast that he practically pulled her.


	2. A Winter in Hell

The royal chambers were getting hot. Arthur was starting to fume in his argument with Guinevere. When he listened to her, he paced and when he stopped pacing, he spoke. “…but Guinevere, you don’t understand,” he tried not to yell. “We are the sovereignty, for heavens sake! And as the sovereignty, the people place us one level below their deities, and,”

“Their deities, Arthur,” she begged to differ and she watched him pace from her, again. “We are but flesh and blood, like all of Camelot’s subjects!”

“But we are not subjects of Camelot,” he corrected in an angry turnabout and stopped within inches of her face. “I am Camelot’s king, and you, my queen! And thus, and thus,” he repeated, that she not interrupt him, again. “Like their deities, we are deemed free of financial encumbrance. And yet, you announced,”

“As was my right to do so,” she interrupted him, anyway, “being Queen of Camelot!” She would not be intimidated by his size, which caused him to pace, again. “Arthur, I did no more than your father would have done! With my own ears, I heard him issue countless levies,”

“But never did you hear him mention a reason and certainly, never a need!” Arthur stopped in her face, fervent to explain. “The people expect Camelot’s coffers to always overflow. They revere their sovereignty and gladly pay their taxes! In return,”

She interrupted again as she decried, “Then, their reverence is a false worship, since Camelot’s coffers are empty!”

Arthur refused to talk louder. He started to pace once more, leaving her to continue.

Without hesitation, she did. “Arthur, do you honestly believe the people gladly give their hard-earned tributes because the sovereignty, whom you claim are lesser gods, somehow deserve them?”

He approached again and towered over her. In a lowered voice obtained by sheer determination, he tried again to explain. “Guinevere, they pay for the pride of being prosperous, which ensures their protection. In time of drought, they do not expect to starve. In time of war, to not be slaughtered! That's why they revere the sovereignty! But now, the people will know that their protection no longer exist because, as you have so blatantly stated, Camelot is in financial distress!” With hell getting hotter, he added, “A distressed kingdom is easy prey for its enemies.”

Guinevere furrowed up at him. From the peasantry, herself, she asked, “are the people to be left unaware when their lives may be in jeopardy?”

Damn diplomacy, he thought and bluntly answered, “Yes! Unaware! If they know that Camelot cannot protect them or pay for an army that will,”

“Arthur, you speak as though Camelot hires mercenaries,”

“No! But many common men with families, which they must feed! The knowledge that Camelot’s coffers are empty will scatter an army and make them seek means, elsewhere,”

“And yet, you issued no levy to pay their wage,” she wanted to know.

“For heavens sake, Guinevere, the people suffered Morgana’s siege, as well! A new levy, now, will incite fear that Camelot is still in distress and still vulnerable to its enemies! A distress, which you have just confirmed.” Exhausted by the same circle their argument traveled, Arthur slumped down on his blanket chest as he wearily said, “Gwen, Camelot’s subjects are simple people. They revere their sovereignty for assurance against the unforeseen. Their own lives are confined to food, shelter and hard work. You expect too much of them.”

Guinevere looked down into his face with an expression that bordered on pity. “And you, Arthur. Not enough.”

Equally exhausted, she went to her wardrobe to take off her beautiful gold-laced dress. She suddenly gazed down at the lavish fabric with the startling realization that Arthur was squandering what little finances their coffers had left. A dress to surpass any queen, it helped to perpetuate his illusion that all was well in Camelot. Or was it his attempt to turn a pig’s ear into a silk purse? Her thoughts exhausted her more and she suddenly yearned to be a simple maidservant, again.

 

 

By nightfall, the city streets had turned into a slushy mix of mud and straw. Gwaine didn’t care, as long as the tavern bustled, once more. The few dire souls who had risked the frozen thoroughfares had left him questioning his own drinking habits. Tonight, he thanked the heavens that Elyan, Percival, Leon and even Lancelot had tread the muddy mess but he suspected that Lancelot was there to get them early to bed. No doubt, Arthur would resume practice and beef up Camelot’s patrols after three days of solid ice.

Amid the bustle, however, Gwaine watched his companions silently and slowly sip their mead. He knew that he had taught them something, after all. Alcohol loosened tongues. In the crowded bar after the day’s council, many tongues were wagging. At a table to their left, Lord Devain Egnok and five other noblemen were getting drunker and talking louder. In a distant corner, some older knights grew boisterous, too. Their words, mainly about Camelot’s new queen, were not kind. Incompetent, maidservant, peasant and even wench went silently unchallenged but the word, harlot, broke the bar.

In the late hour, Arthur and Guinevere woke to a tap on their door. Not an urgent tap, Arthur took the time to don his robe and a pair of slippers against the cold flagstone. Through his locked door, he asked, “Who is it?”

“Sir Bors, sire,” came identification from the other side.

Arthur cracked a peep and gazed directly into the face of his officer-of-the-day, waiting for him to speak.

Sir Bors whispered, “A brawl in the tavern, sire.”

The news wrinkled Arthur’s brow. Both men knew that a tavern brawl was no excuse to wake a king. Unless some eminent someone was dead. Arthur stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Guinevere became somewhat alarmed and she sat higher in bed. A moment she waited for Arthur to return but decided to rise and inquire. Near the door, she heard the words, “…over the queen…,” but she could make out little else. When she opened the door, Arthur quickly said, “just a brawl in the tavern. Nothing to worry about,” but the expression on her face made him quickly add, “with a few injuries.”

“I see,” she said but gave no protest when he eased the door closed while tenderly whispering, “go back to bed.”

After Sir Bors left, Arthur leaned his forehead against the door while wondering just how deep would hell go.

 

The next morning, a ragtag lot stirred slowly and stiffly about the armory. Their eyes suddenly looked toward the entrance. Not the person they wanted to see, their eyes shifted awkwardly elsewhere. A wall of shields became very interesting, a sword rack grew fascinating, a crossbow didn’t seem quite balanced…

Guinevere stood in the armory archway while gazing upon the ragtags. Numerous cuts and bruises, her brother’s bottom lip was busted. Percival had a big knot on his forehead. Leon’s jaw was swollen. Lancelot had a black eye and Gwaine had two. As she gazed upon their fidgeting forms, she wondered who among them would tell her the truth. Arthur wouldn’t. A courageous lot to fight for their queen but all lacked the courage to tell her why they had fought. Selecting whom she considered the most gallant of them all, she said, “Sir Lancelot, I need an escort to the market.”

The fidgeting forms relaxed. Except Lancelot. He hesitantly approached her while bowing and objecting, “but my lady, Arthur has ordered us out on the training field,”

“And you’d leave his queen unescorted,” she countered but very politely.

“Um,” he stammered and then gave a pleading look to Elyan for help.

Nothing her brother could do, he stammered, too. “Um, I’ll tell Arthur why you’re not there.”

As Guinevere turned with Lancelot following behind like a bowed-head captive, Merlin virtually sleepwalked passed them into the armory. He stopped and gave a few blinks at the numerous cuts and bruises. Evil sorcery had played no part, he determined and then resumed, walking, shivering and yawning to fetch weapons for Arthur’s training.

The remaining ragtags followed his every move as he retrieved a long axe, a demolition hammer, a mace, a short axe, the crossbow that wasn't quite balanced, a moment ago…

Gwaine finally asked, “Merlin, what are you doing?”

Loaded down and still yawning, he replied while leaving. “Arthur is in a foul mood, this morning. I believe that he plans to kill someone.”

 

The duty of an escort officer, Lancelot walked in front with the queen two to three paces behind. Once they passed through the gates and toward the city’s sloshy streets, Guinevere spoke to his back. “Last night in the tavern, was my honor bruised as badly as your face?”

“My lady,” he asked, pretending ignorance.

Dispirited as the dreary day, when Guinevere spoke again, her profound sadness quivered in her voice as she uttered, “You, too, Lancelot?”

At that moment, he felt grateful that she could not see his face. He was certain that it showed the ache in his heart. Her voice pleaded to him as the innocent young woman that he once knew. Not as the powerful queen of Camelot. He still loved her too much to deny her plea and he sadly answered, “Bruised more badly, I’m afraid. Some said, a harlot. Seeking fortune. And with the audacity to stand before council and demand it, as evidenced by your attire.”

Guinevere remained silent. Passing a few of Camelot’s subjects, she forced a smile, determined that they would not see her cry. She never reached the market. Lancelot intuitively turned the nearest corner and started escorting her back to the castle. She followed him in silent grace.

 

Merlin was sure that Arthur did it out of wickedness. Sheer devilry it was to send him outside into the cold each night after complaining that it was Guinevere who had put him in hell. Arthur's tavern ban on the ragtags was justifiable, Merlin thought, but forcing him to check the tavern each night was idiotic. He doubted if any of them would disobey the king's order. Except Gwaine, perhaps. In any case, Merlin argued that he could always check their chambers before venturing out into the cold to check the tavern. Arthur would not accept his logic so Merlin still had to go. Arthur did it out of sheer devilment, he was certain.

Huddled and shivering just inside the tavern’s door, Merlin gave his usual cursory, looking for five familiar faces. Seeing none of them, he quickly left. He never noticed the three unfamiliar faces that stared at him from a distant corner table. The moment he left, one of the faces, belonging to a big burly bearded man dressed in thick animal hides and dirty bear fur strolled casually to the counter and asked, “That shivering boy who just came and went, like he entered the wrong place? Do you think he’d be interested in some of our fine furs for a proper winter coat?” 

The bartender glanced at the large and dirty mountain man with an air of suspicion. “That, you’ll have to ask the boy,” he answered, cautiously. 

The man snorted. "I plan to do just that," he said and then he put a gold coin on the counter. “Vienne,” he ordered the tavern’s most expensive bottle of wine from the top shelf behind the counter. 

The bartender practically salivated at the purchase. Seeking more gold, he haggled by giving bits and pieces of information. Almost whispering, he said, “He lives here, in Camelot.” 

The burly man knew he haggled. He put down another gold coin.

The bartender almost whispered, again. “You can find him in the castle, most any day.”

The man wanted a name. He put down a third coin.

The bartender was not ready to give that vital bit of information just yet and he offered instead, “Manservant to the king.” 

The burly man suddenly bristled like a wounded bear in his dirty fur and slammed his hand on the counter. The haggling was over. He pointed angrily at the three expensive bottles that he had just bought. A month’s labor from trapping, skinning and selling furs and for naught, he thought, as he snatched up the bottles and returned to his table.

His two companions heeded his anger and the one they called Short-Legs insisted, “Ramlough, what did you find out?”

Ramlough snarled, underbreath. “Uther Pendragon’s son has legalized witchcraft in Camelot. His own manservant is a sorcerer. A month of hard work wasted!” He raised an expensive bottle, ready to break it on the table but the third man, Tilboro, put out his hand and stopped the force in mid air. “You fool,” he whispered. “Why would a sorcerer that powerful be anyone’s manservant, when he can rule all of Camelot, himself?”

Short-Legs wrinkled his face beneath his dirty red and raggedy beard. “I don’t know, Tilboro. Why,” he asked, confused.

Ramlough had caught his meaning. Smiling, he answered, “the sorcerer has secretly positioned himself to take young Pendragon’s throne.” 

Tilboro smiled, too, as he added, “That information is still worth a king’s ransom and we don’t have to risk our lives to capture him, either. The boy’s fate becomes Pendragon’s worry.”


	3. The Three Bears

The largest of the three grizzlies, Ramlough charged into their tavern room. His forceful entry startled Short-Legs. “Hell, Ramlough," he fussed. "Try to act more civilized! You’ve been up in the mountains far too long!” 

Already enraged, Ramlough yanked off his new tailor-made coat and threw it at him. “Clothes fit for a nobleman but the guards treat me like a peasant unfit to wipe their feet! They wouldn’t let me through the gates! I wasn't allowed to even ask for an audience with the king. It’s up to you or Tilboro to try again, tomorrow,” he insisted. 

“And you're amazed that you were denied,” Short-Legs said, while tossing the coat aside. He sat on a cot, trying on his new boots. “I’m beginning to believe it unwise to even proposition the king. We could be wrong. The wench I spent a small fortune on, last night, said that the boy has been Pendragon’s manservant for over five years, now. A long time to plan a coup, don’t you think?”

Ramlough sniped, “And that’s why we don’t count on you to think! Uther Pendragon would have had the boy’s head, years ago. Only after Uther died did Young Pendragon make sorcery legal,”

“But sorcery isn't legal,” Short-Legs interrupted him. “Not according to the wench. She said the son hates magic as much as his father and rumors abound that sorcery, itself, killed Uther Pendragon.”

“The boy did it,” Ramlough proclaimed with conviction. “And now, he bides his time to do away with the son, as well.”

"But why would a sorcerer need to bide his time," he ask, wrinkling his now clean and shaved face.

Tilboro listened to them bicker. All the while, he sorted through their furs cluttering the floor. Leaning and picking out the better ones to sale first, he finally said, “You’re both fools. Whatever the case, young Pendragon doesn’t know that a powerful sorcerer is posing as his lowly manservant.” The room more cluttered but his task completed, he stood as he boasted, “Since I have to do everything else around here, I’ll get us that audience with the king."

 

Huddled and shivering on his way to the tavern again, Merlin stopped abruptly in the middle of the thoroughfare. Beneath the drying mud and freshly thrown straw, he felt it. A tiny spark. Faint, but it was there. Then, another. And another. Standing frozen in place, he waited a moment to feel a fourth and once it tickled his foot, he was convinced. Spring was coming. Within the week, he must leave. However, convincing Arthur to give him his annual holiday would be a major hassle this year since Arthur's mood of late rivaled the devil, himself. 

With an equal spring in his stride, Merlin rushed to the tavern. From the doorway, he glanced over the crowded room. "No," he uttered and he continued inside.

Gwaine greeted with a plastered grin. “Merlin! Come! Share a drink with an old friend.” He raised his tankard, proposing a toast. 

“But not in here,” Merlin said as he took the tin mug from his hand. “The mood Arthur is in, he’ll banish you, again.” He then locked an arm under Gwaine’s and started lifting him from the end of the bench. Grunting out in his efforts, he said, “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

"Not before paying his tally, you don't," the bartender spoke up, fast and furious. “That’ll be ten denari for ten tankards of mead!”

Merlin whirled his face toward the bartender. “Ten,” he asked, astounded. With his mouth ajar, he looked back at Gwaine. 

“Now, Merlin," he laughed out. "You know that I don’t like to drink alone.” Staggering to his feet with the aid of Merlin’s arm, he asked, “Got any money on you?”

A cynical voice from another table countered his question. “None of these new breed of common knights have money," Lord Devain Egnok grumbled for all to hear. "It seems, our new queen,” he spit out the title but with cautious disdain to avoid another brawl, “has announced that Camelot is virtually penniless.” 

Clack! Shatter!

Every patron in the tavern flinched and then all eyes quickly sought what sounded like a cheap wine bottle breaking. Three men, finely groomed and impeccably dressed suddenly barreled from their table and up the tavern steps toward the rooms. One had unnaturally short legs and was bringing up the rear.

Merlin stared at the legs while trying to remember but Lord Devain Egnok stood, taking his attention. The simple act took the entire tavern’s startled attention, as well. Lord Devain went to the counter and slapped down a handful of coins. Buying the privilege to speak his mind, he passed by Gwaine to exit. Glaring into his inebriated face, he spoke the parting words. "A whore and a drunk." He then continued, walking out. With a gaze over his shoulder at the patrons watching him leave, he said, “My friends, welcome to the new Camelot.”

Gwaine lunged at his back. If not for Merlin's arm, he would have fallen on his face.

 

Short-Legs moved quickly to light several candles in their room. “Well, what do we do now,” he insisted of their fine mess.

Ramlough shucked off his new tailormade coat and slung it across the room, again. The force blew out a candle that Short-Legs had just lit. “More wasted money,” he said. “No reason, now, to seek an audience with the king if he can’t even pay his own knights!” He then slumped into the one chair in the crowded, triple-cot room strewn with animals furs. “I don’t know, Short-Legs," he answered. "But I say that we cut our losses and get the hell out of Camelot.” 

Tilboro sat quietly on one of the cots while rubbing and subconsciously admiring his clean shaved face. Fur trapping was hard, dirty and dangerous work. He felt like a nobleman now and in no hurry to go back into the cold brutal mountains. “If Camelot is indeed penniless, then it’s weak against its enemies,” he surmised. “I suggest that we stay a while longer and find out just how weak. Lot or Caerleon might pay for that information. Besides, we still have more furs to sell.” 

“But I heard that Caerleon is dead,” Short-Legs said.

“Then his queen, Annis,” Tilboro snapped at him. “Or even the witch, Morgana, if you’re not too frightened to find her.”

“I’m not afraid of that she-devil,” he bragged on his courage but his dotting eyes in the dimly lit room said otherwise.

Ramlough slumped lower in the chair. He signed, “Tilboro, if you have a plan, I’m all ears.”

He did. For the sake of staying clean-shaved and well-dressed, he said, “You and Short-Legs set up in the market. While you sale our wares, listen for the people’s impression of their new young king. If Camelot is indeed collapsing, some might welcome a siege. I’ll keep an eye on the sorcerer. He might be instigating the collapse to destroy all loyalty to young Pendragon. With no loyalty, the sorcerer can easily take his throne.”

 

 

 

 

Arthur stood at his window and gazed down into the courtyard at them, again. Showing all manner of propriety and protocol, Guinevere always walked two paces behind Lancelot on her way to the market. They were going there quite often of late, Arthur thought, but she had yet to bring home any purchases. He doubted that she had become so callous as to flaunt her old love for Lancelot in his face but something was amiss. Obvious to him, Guinevere was hiding her activities but then, so was he. That left him angry. “Merlin,” he barked, taking his devilry out on him, again. “Are you sure that you have my instructions straight?”

A delay in answer made Arthur glance around at him.

Merlin slowly packed peasant clothes into a tattered knapsack. His mind distant and frightened, the last place that he needed to go was on a secret mission with Arthur. Maybe his luck had now run out, he thought, as Arthur barked, again. "Merlin!” 

Finally, he answered. “Straight as an arrow, sire,” he said and then he repeated the instructions to convince Arthur that he had been listening. “Today, I'm to take a wagon down by the river, cover it with branches, unhitch my horse and ride back to Camelot. During the night, I’m to obtain food and supplies from the kitchens and hide them in the forest.” Forcing a measure of hooray for Arthur in his tone, he summed, “At first light, we leave on your much needed hunting trip.” 

“And,” he asked, as he watched Guinevere and Lancelot disappear through the gates.

“And what,” he answered, distant and frightened, again. Two days at the latest before he must leave but Arthur denied his annual holiday. 

Arthur gave him a long gaze, now concerned by his demeanor. Less gruff, he said, “And don’t forget to bring my hunting gear or you’ll have me riding out looking the imbecile, like you.” 

“Oh, yeah. Your hunting gear. Right.”

 

Once beyond the gates, Guinevere spoke to her escort’s back, again. “Lancelot, I’ve been wondering about the tavern brawl," she asked. "It seems, those who fought for my honor were punished but I’ve heard no mention of retribution against those who sought to destroy it.”

“You can rest assured that Arthur acted swiftly," he answered. "Two of the knights were stripped of their knighthood and the other two, reduced in rank and permanently assigned to the northern garrison. The six noblemen were charged with treason and made to pay all damages to the tavern or face imprisonment. Banning us for the winter was a far less penalty.” 

Guinevere was stunned. “But Arthur never told me any of this,” she admitted.

He stifled a smile as they approached several of Camelot’s subjects coming toward the gates. Once they were beyond hearing distance, he asked, “Guinevere, how could Arthur reveal to you their punishments when you confessed that he never revealed to you their crimes?” 

A bit pensive, she uttered, “That is truly Arthur’s nature. He feels that he must quietly protect all those around him.” 

Pensive, too, he replied, “Perhaps, that is why you love him.” 

“Perhaps,” she said, but with a tinge of doubt resonating in her voice. “I fear for him, at times, Lancelot. He shoulders too much burden. He believes that he must rule Camelot, all alone.”

Lancelot heard that sliver of doubt in her voice and he readily clung to it.

 

The grizzlies whispered over their dinner at the tavern. Ramlough confirmed Lord Devain’s statement. “Camelot is indeed broke,” he said. “Three days now the queen, herself, has walked amongst the shoppers like a lioness silently stalking her prey. A noble lady, here, an old peasant woman, there. She quietly begs for tributes to support Camelot’s army.”

Tilboro grew excited. “But does she get them,” he insisted to know.

“Not once have I seen tokens exchange hands.”

“Then, Camelot’s subjects are dissatisfied and easy for conquer,” he concluded. “The other kingdoms will relish that news. I’m convinced that Young Pendragon knows this, too, and he seeks to rectify his finances. This afternoon, I followed the sorcerer to the royal stables. He told the stable boy to have two horses ready at first light for the king's hunting trip but then he takes a wagon far into the western woods and covers it with branches. After he’d gone, I checked inside the wagon. On the floorboard was a satchel of peasant's clothes but two others that contained chainmail, royal attire and a king's crown. But more telling, an unmarked strongbox.” 

“The western woods,” Ramlough repeated. “That direction leads to Caerleon’s kingdom.” 

“But I heard he’s dead,” Short-Legs said.

“You fool," Tilboro shouted in his whisper. "Then Pendragon has formed an alliance with his queen.” Speaking more to Ramlough, he surmised, “Now, the young king slips to her for money.”

Ramlough’s face lit. “Money in the hands of one lone man disguised as a peasant is ripe for the picking.”

Short-Legs swayed his head as he said, “not if that sorcerer is tagging along, posing as his manservant.”

“In that case," Tilboro schemed, "we must devise a plan for young Pendragon to rid us of him.” 

Ramlough frowned. “We really needed that audience with the king. This problem would already be solved.”

Tilboro rubbed at his face, longing to stay clean shaved. “No need." he said. "Pendragon will have no guards to stop an audience, once deep in the woods.”


	4. Queen Annis' Wisdom

With Excalibur at his feet, Arthur commanded their two-horse reins from their rickety buckboard seat. “Merlin, I know that you were anxious to get home,” he said and with a glance from the corner of his eye but he could barely see around his grey hooded cloak. He planned to discard the cumbersome garment nearer the outlying villages. Still too close to home, a familiar face might get word back to Camelot that the king had been seen dressed like a peasant and headed west. Arthur expected no Camelot patrols since he personally scheduled them away from his route.

He was more worried about Merlin. In the past week, Merlin's mood had run the gamut from stupor to cheer to anxiety. Now, he sat beside him, unnaturally quiet. Arthur offered him some good news or so he thought. “I had Leon send someone to till your mother’s soil. Wilsyth is not much of a knight," he said, trying to create conversation, as well. "I believe that he’d much rather be digging in the ground.”

Merlin was lost in the sky. Each cloud formation atop the many skeletons they passed clenched his throat.

“Merlin.”

“Thank you, sire,” he said, half-heartedly while thinking how fickle Spring always was. On the other hand, Old Man Winter was as constant as the northern wind. When he blew his cold breath and mixed it with moisture, a blizzard was sure to come but Spring was like a whimsical young woman who flaunted and teased. From the east, west or south she came. Merlin now wondered her sensuality. Was she waning or getting stronger to herald her ultimate intercourse? If only he could feel the earth to know her mood. “Arthur, I’ve got to pee.”

“Again?”

“Sorry,” he said, barely waiting for Arthur to stop the wagon before climbing down. “I’ll just be a moment.” He quickly left the road that was little wider than a path of mud and brown grass and ran into the trees. He then disappeared behind a large trunk. Standing still, he felt less activity beneath his feet than only an hour ago. He exhaled, thankful that she only teased. Maybe he could have Arthur back in Camelot or safe deep within her borders before he left him. He had to leave him. He had no choice.

When Merlin returned to the road, a noticeable relief lifted his worried face. “Arthur, how long do you think we’ll be in Caerleon,” he asked, looking up at him while almost cheerful, again.

Arthur stared into his face, amazed by his sudden mood swing. “If peeing lifts your spirits this much, then by all means, go all day,” he said and he handed him the water skin from the seat between them.

Merlin took the water but put it back down as he climbed up. “We shouldn’t be there for more than a day, should we,” he asked again, more serious.

Arthur became serious with him. “If the moon is with us, I hope to travel well into the night. Four days is long enough for a hunting trip or Guinevere will start to worry.”

Merlin knew that Arthur worried, instead. Despite his winter stupor, he had noticed it, too. Gwen was spending more time with Lancelot, of late.

 

Three miles behind them, another wagon half-loaded with animal furs followed. Well-seasoned hunters, Tilboro, Ramlough and Short-Legs now tracked wagon wheels instead of wild animals.

 

 

A day and a half of hard travel, King Arthur and his faithful manservant arrived in Caerleon’s kingdom near midday. Wide open plains before they reached the castle, they could see it up ahead. The only other movement on the rolling landscape galloped toward them. A Caerleon patrol. As the riders approached, King Arthur donned his crown and his red cape bearing Camelot’s dragon crest over his peasant clothes.

One of Caerleon’s men quickly turned and rode ahead to notify the queen. When King Arthur reached the castle, Queen Annis led a welcoming party outside to greet the young man who gave her such hope. “Arthur Pendragon,” she said but reserved her smile pending the reason for his visit. “It’s good to see you, again. Welcome to Caerleon. Please, come inside.” She extended a hand along with her invitation.

Arthur kissed it out of respect. “Thank you, your highness,” he said and then he turned toward Merlin to order his things brought inside. At that moment, Arthur first noticed it. Three young women had surrounded Merlin. Two maidservants and the queen’s own courtier. Arthur had to wait for him to emerge from their midst before giving his order.

Merlin looked relieved. He rushed down the side path toward their wagon but Arthur watched the two maidservants eagerly accompany him. They brushed up against his sides as they briskly walked. Arthur then noticed that the courtier looked over her shoulder at Merlin as if yearning to accompany him, too, but she stayed dutifully with their party. When Arthur turned to follow the queen inside, he almost bumped into her highness. Queen Annis had slowed her pace while looking over her shoulder at Merlin, as well.

After a brief but private talk, King Arthur followed an escort to royal chambers high in a tower. The castle staff had a bath already prepared. Numerous women had volunteered. Arthur freshened up and took rest before negotiating the terms of the loan. That night, a feast was scheduled in his honor and by dawn, he hoped to be homeward bound.

After his bath, however, Arthur got little rest. Taps on the door kept disturbing him. Merlin quickly answered each tap. Maidservants, asking Merlin if he needed more assistance. Even the courtier tapped. Merlin finally told the two guards posted that the king must not be disturbed. Still, the women came. Their pleading voices could be heard just outside the door. Merlin soon decided it wiser to find a place in the castle to hide if Arthur or he were to get any peace. He suspected that word would travel fast enough that he was no longer there.

Merlin knew exactly what was happening. His body's scent was getting stronger. Years ago, his mother told him that he smelled like sexual desire, itself. Women detected his scent first and few could resist. The stronger it got, men could smell him, too. Most men wanted to fight him. One or two, to make love. His sexual scent added to the reason that he left his home, each spring. It would grow so strong and powerful that when old man Punik grumbled of sorcery, Merlin left for the caves earlier than necessary. He was barely sixteen.

But a long way from the caves near Ealdor now, he felt frightened and at a loss. After the bounty hunters discovered him there several years ago, he spent his next spring in an old shabby cabin. The most painful time in his life, he almost died. He learned, then, that he must always take refuge deep inside the earth where few things grew. Only there, Spring’s ultimate intercourse as she boomed and crackled and lit up the sky for hours upon end would not kill him while she drove him mad with pain and desire.

Sitting, hidden in an old stairwell, the undisturbed dust told Merlin that it was seldom traveled. Even when he suspected that Arthur had risen from his rest to meet with Queen Annis, he remained hidden.

Arthur waited for him but he had to go. Surely, he would be notified if something had happened to his manservant, he thought as he followed his escort to her private antechambers for their meeting. A relatively small and quaint room with rugs draped over much of the walls yet the room was well lighted by a large window overlooking the inner court. Only two others were present. A scribe and her financial adviser. Both elderly noblemen sat across the room. They stood as she beckoned the king to share a small round table near her window.

Arthur sat opposite her. He thought the table looked rather dainty with elegant crystal goblets and matching wine flasks but he made no comment. Sharing congenialities to open their talks, he soon started his tale. “When Morgana’s forces first stormed the citadel," he explained. "She had some of her men seize our vaults.”

A veteran queen, Annis settled back in her chair and often added information for the young king. “To pay her army of mercenaries,” she surmised.

All the while, Arthur sat upright like an eager pupil under her tutelage. He constantly nodded to show his appreciation for her shared wisdom. “There was little that my knights could do except to help flee our citizens," he said. "Those in the lower town and on the farms continued with their daily lives, but under her rule. Despite the many cruelties, they remained prosperous, both in the fields and in haggling over the goods and services, which they provided her army.”

“Haggling for coins from Camelot’s own vaults,” she surmised, again. “In essence, their own tributes.”

Arthur nodded, again. “But Morgana’s reign was brief,” he said when suddenly he flinched. A loud boom startled them all. Only thunder. He continued, “Within the month, we recaptured the citadel,”

“By then, many of her mercenaries had moved on,” she guessed, as she reached to refill his goblet. The quaint space suddenly lit up with powerful flashes. “Oh my,” she said to huge lightning bolts outside the window.

Arthur nodded again, in sentiment. “But Morgana had already done her damage," he said. "Camelot’s vaults were pillaged.” Several more rumbles of thunder made him wait a moment. “All was lost except for my personal funds hidden of all places, beneath my bed. Camelot’s subjects will pay their regular taxes, but,”

“But you hesitate to issue a new levy, now, afraid that it will impart fear that Camelot is still vulnerable to the likes of Surrum or Lot or Morgana, herself.” Queen Annis then took a slow sip of wine. As she sat settled back while looking over her goblet at him, she decided that she did indeed like the young king. No other would have come to her and so honestly stated his kingdom’s weakness.

Outside, the rains began.

Honest, herself, she said, “I must admit that my husband spent a fortune to defend against your father. He always feared that Uther coveted Caerleon much like he coveted Camelot. Since his death, I’ve spent far less to maintain a large army, convinced that I could depend upon you, Arthur Pendragon, to share the burden in time of war. As I expected you to depend upon Caerleon. However, I'm convinced that you considered Morgana a family matter. But now that you confide Camelot’s own weakness, I’d be foolish to not honor your request, for the safety of my kingdom depends upon it.”

No haggling, she offered, “Five harvests to repay the amount and with a one-twentieth gain.”

More than reasonable, Arthur stifled a smile as he extended his arm over the quaint table to accept her offer. Nonetheless, she saw the joy and relief in his eyes and she said, “You’ll find your wagon loaded, before first light. I’m sure that you’re anxious for home, storm or no." Preparing to stand, she said, "Congratulations on your new queen. I regret that I could not attend your wedding, although I’m certain that, by now, the honey moon is setting.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped at her profound wisdom. He hoped that she had not noticed as he quickly and chivalrously stood first.

While she walked him to her door, she confirmed the evening’s event. “I do hope that you enjoy our feast,” she said but then she spoke in a tone that left him utterly flabbergasted. Undeniably sensual, she added, “And don’t forget to bring your fool. I’m looking forward to his entertainment, tonight.”

 

Merlin still sat huddled against the stairwell wall. The storm had been a bad one. Excruciating but brief, it had settled into a quiet rain. He felt eternally grateful for that. Only now, he wondered what he must smell like. Three masturbations had helped to ease his desire. This time. He feared the days ahead when he could no longer satisfy himself. In the past, he had often thought to ask for help but to do so would reveal his magic and cause his death. The idea of simply taking what his body needed left him repulsed. Rape violated nature, itself. Not to mention murder, since he would be forced to kill to keep his magic and his rapes, both, secret. So year after year, he continued to hide and suffer, all alone.

Now painfully standing, he started easing back to the king’s chambers. He exhaled that he passed no one. Even the guards had gone. The feast must have started, he guessed as he magically unlocked the door. After a quick glance down the corridors, he rushed inside and locked it back.

He knew that he desperately needed a bath. But the tub along with Arthur’s bathwater was gone. Only a pitcher of water left, he washed himself as best he could. Sweetbread, cheese, wine and winter nuts for the king, he had his own little feast. The servant’s cot set in the far corner with a canopy, surrounded by walls of drapes. He crawled inside and while hoping that Arthur would forgive his absence, he tried to get some sleep.

 

More than a hundred attended the hastily gathered feast. Mainly bread, weak gravies and thinly sliced meats. But plenty to drink. Queen Annis sat beside the king. She noticed that his worried eyes constantly searched the room and doors, despite his lips’ merriment. After an hour or so, she stood and made an announcement that she was sure her subjects wanted to hear. “Please, continue the festivities without us.”

Everyone gave a toast and cheer. Happier now, the formal banquet would soon become a raucous bash once the queen and king were gone. She turned to Arthur.

He faked a casual stand and took her lightly by the elbow. While letting her lead him slowly out of the banquet hall, his mind screamed to her, “run!” He had not seen Merlin since taking a nap, nearly eight hours ago. Inappropriate for a king to ask constantly of a missing underling but then, Merlin was far more than his fool.

Engaged in small talk as they walked the corridor, Queen Annis said to him out of the blue. “He’s probably resting from your travels but I know that you worry. Go. Find him.”

Again she amazed him but without delay he nodded goodnight and quickened his pace. The moment he entered his chambers, the remnants of the small feast started to ease his mind, somewhat. Rushing to the servant’s cot, he opened the drapes to look inside...

Wham!

Arthur staggered backward. He was hit by an odor so strong that it nearly knocked him out.

With one eye open, Arthur tried to sleep that night. When he woke and rose before dawn, he found only a washbasin of lukewarm water with his peasant clothes, grey cloak and Excalibur laid across the foot of his bed. Everything else, including his royal cloak and crown were gone. So was Merlin.

When Arthur dressed and came down, Merlin stood waiting a distance from the wagon. Only Queen Annis, her accountant and two guards bid them farewell as they eased away, just moments before light.

 

Overcast skies threatened more rain. Caerleon's castle grew smaller on the plains behind them as they rode in complete silence. Arthur commanded the reins, again, while practically leaning over the side of his buckboard seat. Merlin sat huddled and leaning over the other side. The separation did little good.

Arthur could finally stand no more and he yelled, “Damn it, Merlin! Why didn’t you take care of that back at the castle? You had plenty of women offering!” He now understood all of the attention, all of the eager maidservants, the taps, and the obvious hiding. Even Queen Annis had found the horny odor appealing. “Are you frightened of women or something,” he demanded to know.

“No," Merlin muttered, offended. "I’m not afraid of them.”

“Then, why in hell didn’t you take one up on her offer? Or several, by the smell of you!”

Merlin remained silent as he huddled tighter and tried to lean farther from Arthur’s nostrils as well as his anger. He couldn’t tell Arthur that sorcery controlled the women's behavior. Nor could he explain that taking advantage of them in their powerless state was tantamount to rape.

Arthur insisted, “When we reach the trees up ahead, go behind one and do what you did before,” now convinced that it had been more than just peeing.

Merlin huddled tighter while fearing the weather and Arthur, too. Arthur seemed to be one of those men who wanted to fight him.

Once deep into the woods, a wagon came around an embankment and started to follow. A mile behind.

Merlin noticed that the skies above the skeletons were getting darker. No longer on the open plains, Arthur noticed that Merlin’s odor was getting stronger. He stopped the wagon, turned and gave him an angry glare.

Slow to respond, Merlin still watched the sky. He had not asked to stop and he looked around at Arthur. The angry and irritated face made him say, “Oh.” Quickly, he climbed down. After a short while, he returned to the wagon but with more fright in his eyes. He had felt the energy beneath his feet. Spring was gearing up for her ultimate fling.


	5. Spring

Merlin felt his desire rising in his body like a high-grade fever. Still, he held on to hope. They were nearing the border. He remembered the cliffs that overlooked Caerleon's army after Arthur killed Caerleon's king. Queen Annis had come to the border, seeking her vengeance. Merlin hoped that caves were near the border. If only he could reach the border. If only he could convince Arthur to hurry.

As cautious as possible, Merlin spoke while hoping that Excalibur wouldn't be snatched from the floorboard to slice off his head. “Looks like it’s ready to storm,” he said.

“Looks that way,” Arthur replied, preoccupied. He was noticing the low and threatening clouds and warming weather, too. So warm, he had discarded his grey cloak.

“Should we try to reach the caves at the border,” Merlin uttered, seeking confirmation while trying not to provoke his anger. 

Arthur objected with a shake of his head. “They’re over five miles south of where we cross. Five miles out of our way. If the weather becomes too severe to continue, we’ll take refuge beneath the wagon until the worst passes.”

Merlin felt his stomach sour along with his hope. But he could not give up. Not after he had confirmed that caves were five miles south, along the border. He had to make one more effort. “The storms might last well into the night,” he said while trying not to plead.

Arthur gave him a stern glance that said beyond a doubt that the matter was decided.

Denied again, Merlin felt his heart beating and sweat beading upon his brow. From fear and desire, he didn’t know which affected him more. Nor did it matter. He leaned farther from Arthur and prepared for the only option now left to him. Run. 

 

Ramlough pulled back on their reins. “Whoa,” he commanded their horses. 

The stop irritated Short-Legs. It meant that he had to jump off the back of their wagon again, check the wheel tracks in front and then leap his short legs back up into the wagon. Standing before their horses, he looked closer at the ground. “Yep,” he said. “They stopped, again, and with the same set of footprints headed toward another big tree.” He then grumbled, “One of them must have a really bad bladder.” 

Tilboro glared down at him from his buckboard seat. “You grumble, but this just might be the break that we’ve been waiting for. It means that they separate when they stop. We’ll use that separation to get our audience with Young Pendragon.”

Short-Legs looked up with a furrow as he walked alongside the horses. “But an audience will take time," he said. "Certainly longer than it takes either of them to pee. I still say that we wait until they stop to sleep.”

“You fool," Tilboro snapped. "I need only the time to inform a disguised peasant that his companion is a sorcerer. Rightly frightened, I scurry away. We then wait for Young Pendragon to do the rest.” 

“Finally,” Ramlough exhaled, after days of setbacks and hard travel. With a sense of closure, he added, “that sorcerer will never see his blade coming when Pendragon runs him through.” 

Tilboro cautioned, “But let's not count our coins, just yet. Even with the sorcerer dead, we’ll still have Camelot’s finest swordsman to face.”

“Three against one,” Ramlough boast as he sat higher to flex his brawn. “Like I said, money ripe for the picking.” 

While he flexed, Tilboro continued to scheme. “Short-Legs, muzzle our horses," he ordered. "The storm itself should drown our other sounds as we move closer behind.” 

Short-Legs had just leaped up. He grumbled again at having to leap back down. “Hell, Tilboro," he fussed. "Why didn’t you tell me to muzzle the animals while I was up there?” 

 

 

Arthur constantly glanced at Merlin. Something was very wrong. Merlin was sweaty, flushed and his body odor was getting stronger. Much stronger. Like fog settling into a bog. This was no ordinary sexual need, Arthur now knew…

Boom!

The thunder clap seemed to shatter the skeletons, for miles around.

Merlin jerked in pain and huddled tighter into himself. With an expression left twisted from the shatter, he turned his huddled body and looked at Arthur. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry…” Fearing death, he pleaded for Arthur’s forgiveness for the years of secrets and lies. He apologized for abandoning their destiny and the promise of Albion. At that moment, he felt sorry for having magic, itself. 

Arthur stared into his twisted face. He started pleading, too. For understanding. “Merlin,” he whispered, as if afraid to say his name louder or Merlin might crumble. His own face twisted, too, wrinkled in his confusion. He then shouted, “Whoa,” to stop the horses. All the while, he stared into his terrified eyes. 

Merlin continued to beg him for forgiveness. “I wanted to stay," he tried to explain. "I wanted to stay and keep you safe. But I must go, now. I’m so sorry, I'm so sorry…” 

“Merlin,” he asked, pleading again just as lightning crackled and ripped across the sky. 

Suddenly, Merlin jumped from the wagon. With his face twisted in pain and sobs seeking forgiveness, he started walking backward, moving off the road. 

“Merlin?”

He gave one last gaze into Arthur’s eyes, turned and without looking back, he ran into the trees. 

“Merlin,” he shouted. He then struggled to set the wagon brakes, grab Excalibur and all the while, he tried to keep track of his disappearing body. “Merlin!” He finally jumped from the wagon and ran into the woods, chasing after him. "Merlin!" 

Seeing only glimpses of brown clothes in the brown foliage as they dashed and scraped against the trees, Spring continued to crackle and boom in her ultimate fling. She then poured her rains, whipping them with gusts and old leaves. Arthur could barely see. He fought panic rising in his chest when his glimpses of Merlin grew farther between. His panic consumed his breath when he lost all track. He bent over heaving for air, desperate to regurgitate his fear.

Arthur knew that Merlin ran in pain but he could not follow. The gusting leaves were quickly covering his tracks. His only hope, he remembered that Merlin asked about the Caves of Caerleon. Despite the panic now lodged in his throat, Arthur took off in a sprint.

Three miles of hard running, Merlin could go no farther. He staggered and stumbled from the fury of Spring. Far too strong to magically defy, his golden eyes started to dot, seeking refuge from her storm. Looking east, he saw a gully. Not much but inside he saw tree roots eroded bare. Spring reduced him to crawling the last few meters and he slid face down the muddy slope. He then huddled inside the eroded bank but a pitiful shelter against her lightning, winds and rains.

Merlin knew that he had to satisfy his body, no matter his agony. To lie in need in her tempest's arms would surely kill him and he was not yet ready to die. He ripped open his trousers and took his flesh in hand. With a fury of passion that challenged Spring’s own fling, he started to pump his arm. Yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs, he worked while in a debilitating pain to bring forth his release. 

Still running, Arthur went south toward the caves when suddenly he heard the winds begin to scream. Sorcery! He stopped and turned in circles while brandishing Excalibur. But he now fought an added fear. His meager sword held no match for magic powerful enough to ride the winds and rains. 

As if Spring decided to inhale, everything went quiet and still. Except the yells. Arthur uttered, "Merlin," with fear stealing his voice. But not his legs, he started running toward the sound. Suddenly, Spring exhaled, again. It didn’t matter to Arthur. He now had a direction. As he ran faster and faster, he feared that his brain would split in two. He prayed for Merlin’s pain to end but prayed again it didn’t. Without his yells to follow, he might not find him. 

Just as he reached a small gully, the yelling did stop. But Arthur knew that Merlin was close. So close. With his legs exhausted, he searched with only his eyes. Squinting through the wind and rain, he suddenly saw him. Huddled inside the gully wall, he lay facing the roots.

Arthur wanted to call his name but fear stole his voice, again. He prayed that Merlin was still alive but his mind feared otherwise. Then, he saw the smallest movement. Short and jerky. Merlin’s arm continuously moved. Arthur started to call again but such a motion hitched his breath. Shocked and baffled, he finally called out but in a voice barely heard over the storm. "Merlin," he asked for some reason or rhyme. 

Merlin heard but he would not look over his shoulder at him. Why had Arthur followed him, his mind cursed the heavens. Wasn't his present agony enough for him to bear? Embarrassed that Arthur had to see him that way, he begged in a voice that cracked with his pain and devastation. “Arthur, please leave!”

“Merlin,” he asked again for understanding but feared more, the answers. 

“Please! Leave!” Merlin shouted at him. Shouted at his king. The desire in his body grew rapidly, again. Despite his shame in Arthur's presence, he had no choice but to satisfy his body or succumb to Spring. In his short and jerky fury, he continued to pump his arm while he tried to shield his actions from Arthur.

"Merlin, whatever the matter, I can’t leave you here, like this," he insisted. His eyes searched hastily for a path to carry him out of the gully. A foot of water had already risen. Several more and he felt sure that Merlin would drown. Seeing a path, he started toward it.

Merlin sensed that he still came despite his pleas for him to leave. He finally braved a look over his shoulder to see. With eyes controlled by storm and lust and the fear of dying, he now grew frightened for Arthur, too. Merlin knew that he had to make him go. In his current state, he lacked control over his desires. If Arthur came to him, now, both might die that day. In his cracked voice, he managed to speak up, “Arthur! I’ll need a horse… to get me to the caves… and you must go back… and bury the gold!”

Arthur stiffened. Camelot’s future, Caerleon’s defense sat in an abandoned wagon in the middle of the road. Merlin was right. He must go back. Still, he swayed with indecision.

“Arthur! Please hurry! The horses!” He sobbed out, losing his battle to stifle his needs.

The decision was made for Arthur. He left, running, again. Soon after he left, he heard the winds scream. Sorcery! Arthur now knew beyond a doubt. Merlin was the sorcerer. His mind started to rage like the storm around him. All the lies, the secrets, the betrayal, his trust...

Arthur felt that each boom of thunder would fracture him, would break him into a thousand pieces.

Legs exhausted and betrayed eyes blurry, he finally saw the road. He exited the trees a quarter-kilometer in front of the wagon but from his distance he knew instantly that things were terribly wrong. For one, the horses were missing. His mind cried out, "Merlin! How, now, to get you to the caves!" He then thought of the gold and he hoped that the missing animals had somehow unhitched themselves, frightened by the storm. The closer he got, he wielded Excalibur but knew that he was too late. The red in his cloak he saw first and then the other items scattered about the ground. 

Arthur rushed to the wagon with one last prayer -- that the strongbox had been too heavy for anyone to carry. He quickly looked into the wagon and then he turned and looked down at the road. He saw the numerous muddy footprints and a second set of wagon tracks all filling with rain. 

Arthur dropped to his knees.


	6. The Ancient Caverns of Caerleon

Angles and shades of light sliced through the darkness. Some of the angles were small; others were wide; several, elongated; and a few were great. The shades of light ranged from moonlight dim to evening’s gloaming to midday sun…

Sunlight. Merlin raised his groggy head. He stared at one of the brightest shades although his body felt anchored in an angle of gloaming. And his body ached. The aches made him feel the surface beneath him, the wall at his side. The texture felt hard. Very hard. Like rock. Looking about, he realized that the whole place was rock. Polished sandstone. Dozens of walls, in varying heights.

In his grogginess, he discerned that the walls were actually columns of differing widths. The columns supported ceilings. Peering up, a couple of ceilings reached higher than any castle that he had ever seen. Higher than Camelot’s own throne room. What was this place, his groggy mind asked. How did he get here, or when, or why… In his haze, he even considered that he might be dead and now dwelled amongst the gods by the look of his surroundings.

The more he wondered the more he remembered, until his thoughts cried out, Arthur! Arthur!

Merlin quickly sat up. His eyes searched frantically the angles and shades but nothing stirred. Nothing, except dust particles in the angles of sunlight. He sensed that he was there alone. But he had not been alone. Familiar items gathered in another angle of gloaming told him that. So did a small pile of rocks arranged for a cooking fire. The royal cooking pots were there, too. And clothes. They hung on sticks propped against a wall near the cooking fire. Apparently, hung to dry. His clothes.

Only then did Merlin notice the grey cloak now crumpled in his lap. It had fallen from his bare chest when he sat up. Underneath the cloak, he was naked.

Mud. Mud was the reason that his clothes hung there. He remembered mud. And tree roots. And a gully. He remembered sliding face down into the gully and then clinging to the muddy roots. He remembered that the roots throbbed with energy even as he clung to them but no comparison to the energy that sparked above him.

Spring!

He remembered the weather. He remembered her undulating rains and whipping winds as Spring mercilessly seduced him.

Water. He remembered cold vicious water, rushing and lapping at his back. Then, there were shoulders. Broad and solid shoulders but seemed weary with exhaustion as they hoisted him up. He remembered the sheer determination in those broad weary shoulders. That determination made him feel safe. And feeling safe, he remembered fading as everything around him went black.

Merlin suspected that he now sat in a cave at Caerleon's border. Arthur must have gotten him here, somehow. He also suspected that Arthur had gone. Was probably near Camelot, by now.

Merlin reclined again with a sense of relief mixed with sadness. Relief, that he might survive another Spring but sadness, that he had to survive another one, all alone. Holding himself, he huddled on his side underneath the grey cloak. As he huddled, he postponed one physical need after another… thirst, pee, food, clothes… refusing to move his aching body, just yet.

Suddenly, something made him move. Heavy thuds, echoing in the caverns. The angles and shades started to change, too, moving along the sandstone walls. Merlin bolt upright. Something was coming. Something gigantic, to effect so much light. He readied his eyes for battle but what entered appeared no larger than himself. A human figure, casting shadows. Merlin squinted at the silhouette to be sure. As he squinted, he uttered, “Arthur?”

Arthur only glanced at him. Arms filled with small decaying branches, he continued to the cooking rocks. Once he reached the small stone pile and squatted, he finally replied without emotion, “You’re awake.” Purposely silent, again, he used excessive force to break the rotten branches across his thigh. With more force than necessary, he tossed the wood, piece by piece, upon the previous ashes.

Merlin knew when not to press. In a low and even tone, he cautiously asked, “How long was I out?”

“Three days,” came Arthur’s flat and factual reply. All the while, he kept a close eye on Merlin with his periphery.

“Days,” he uttered. A dozen questions he needed to ask but he decided it wiser to wait on Arthur. Something obviously angered him. Merlin could only guess the matter from a long list of possibilities. First of all, his challenging scent. Then, him running away, his gully shame, his yells and screams… Merlin suddenly tensed and huddled against the wall. His yells and screams. He knew the power behind them. His vocals came from his deepest magic, when Spring forced him beyond the sexual limitations of any normal human being.

In his periphery, Arthur saw him tense and huddle. Obvious to him, too, Merlin had deciphered his anger. He stood and without another word, he tread heavily with quick strides as he left, again.

After he had gone, Merlin rushed to dress while fearing that he might not survive Spring, after all.

 

 

Guinevere met the leader of the next search party on the citadel steps' landing. “Gwaine,” she insisted. Her worried tone asked for the news that needed no other question.

He answered her with optimism, for her sake as well as his own. After all, his best friend was missing, too. Lightheartedly, he said, “Now, you know how Arthur loses all track of time when he hunts. I’m sure that Leon’s party searching north or Elyan’s, east, will find the princess and drag him home.” He even gave her one of his famous flirtatious ogles, implying that Arthur was indeed a princess to prefer hunting over her. His effort brought the little smile that he needed to see her make. He then returned to the gravity of the situation as he asked, “Please, allow us a few hours of rest and we’ll resume the search.”

“Thank you, Gwaine,” she said to both of his efforts and then she turned to go back inside. Abruptly she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “Gwaine,” she called, since he already descended the steps to inform his men. “Please, have someone find Lancelot with word to meet me in the strategy room.”

Gwaine withheld a furrow as well as judgement that she often sought Lancelot's company. Even a queen needed a friend, he concluded and he assured her, “I’ll find him, myself.”

When Lancelot arrived, Guinevere sat at the end of Uther’s old strategy table. He bowed, “My lady,” aware the guards had not finished closing the doors. Once closed, he allowed himself to rush to her. “Gwaine told me, still no word,” he said as he dropped to one knee beside her chair. “I’m at your command, whatever you may need.”

Guinevere rubbed a hand down his thick tunic sleeve in gratitude. Taking his hand, she beckoned him toward the adjacent chair. “Six days, now, Lancelot,” she said with teary eyes and yet a sense of reality reflected in them. “What if they don’t find him,” she asked while steeling herself to face that fact.

Lancelot could not share her fear. He knew that Merlin had powerful magic. As he sat, he said, instead, “Gwen, Arthur has been away far longer than six days and has always returned.”

She nodded, grateful for his inspiring words but her thoughts had already moved to another problem. “Lancelot,” she slowly prefaced. “Do you think it heartless of me to assume Camelot’s reign while the status of her king is still unknown?”

Almost adamant, he answered, “No. Not heartless but in fact, your duty, being queen of Camelot. The people must always know that someone is in command.”

A more profound sadness creased her face although she managed to smile as she said, “you sounded like Arthur.” After a moment of thought, she instructed, “Please, send a scribe to me. I’ll have him post notice that council will reconvene, in two days.”

Lancelot nodded his approval before forcing himself to leave her company.

 

 

Merlin started to explore his surroundings in case he had to run from Arthur, this time, instead of Spring’s wayward rapture. Seeking a way out of the caverns, he searched the source of the angles and shades. On slow and shaky legs, he wobbled toward an angle of sunlight. The light led him into an outer chamber with a dozen huge openings chiseled to the outside world. Six feet wide and twelve feet tall, he guessed, the large rectangle openings were actually doorways and the doorways share a long continuous landing, apparently leading to steps, below.

Merlin exhaled but the closer he got to the doorways, he continued to see sky. Endless sky. He wobbled faster. Once he reached the landing, he discovered that it was no landing, at all. It was a terrace. A flat slab of sandstone jutting into space. He braved to ease a wobbly foot onto the terrace and look about. The land seemed to have shifted and slit in two, centuries ago. One side fell kilometers below and the other side seemed to have jetted slightly upward. He realized that he stood on the highest peak of a cliff side or maybe even a mountain.

He turned to leave the cliff side chamber to find another way out when suddenly he fought panic. The numerous angles and shades of light slicing into the caverns confused him. Beyond the inner chamber, he discerned a third chamber, and a fourth and maybe even a fifth…

By the time Merlin finished searching the third chamber for a way out, he heard the heavy tread of boots again, echoing throughout the caverns. He quickly returned to the second chamber and huddled inside a small angle of sunlight. No sooner had he huddled, the angles and shades started to change again, moving along the numerous walls.

Arthur carried a large trout that he speared in a nearby lake. Still silent, he knelt beside the cooking rocks and started gutting his catch.

Out of habit, Merlin volunteered, “I’ll do that,” and he moved quickly to rise.

“No,” Arthur shouted at him. “Just stay over there, where you are!”

Merlin slid back down the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees. He remained silent as he waited for Arthur to reach a decision on his fate. While he waited, he prayed again for Arthur’s forgiveness. At the same time, he wondered if Arthur might actually challenge him, might actually try to kill him. His strong sexual scent, he knew, did not help his case. Arthur seemed to be one of those men who felt threatened by the smell of him.

With the trout gutted, cooked and half-eaten, Arthur settled his back against a column shroud in an angle of twilight. He tossed more dead branches onto the fire and then he glared across the chamber at Merlin. The fire blazed with the anger in his eyes but his tone was impassive as he finally asked, “why didn’t you tell me that you're a sorcerer?”

Merlin hesitated before he replied with a one-word answer, cautious to offer more. “Fear,” he said.

“Frightened of what,” he demanded. “You’re the damned sorcerer, here! I'm frightened of you!”

Merlin remained silent. With a slight tilt of his head to assess the words, Arthur did not appear to be frightened. To the contrary, Arthur seemed irate. Cautious, again, Merlin asked, “If you're afraid of me, then why didn't you let me drown in the gully? Instead, you risked your life to save me.”

Arthur refused to answer that question, just yet. Impassive again, except for the blaze in his eyes, he asked, “Your magic? How strong is it?”

The question rattled Merlin. Was Arthur actually sizing him up as an opponent, he wondered. Was Arthur ready to throw down his gauntlet in challenge… Merlin huddled tighter as he uttered, “What do you mean?”

Arthur's voice remained emotionless. “I mean, is it strong enough to see the past or the future,” he asked.

“No. I’m not a seer,” he answered but now more confused. He did notice, however, that his answer seemed to rob all the fight from Arthur's eyes. He leaned slightly toward him but feared offering him comfort. Anxiety in his voice, he asked, “Why?”

Arthur stood, leaving, again. With words that shattered them both, he answered while walking away. “Someone stole the strongbox from the wagon. I saved you, only because I hoped that your sorcery could get it back.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

 

 

Today's court council would be unorthodox and possibly illegal, many noblemen thought as they filed into the great throne room. For starters, Arthur Pendragon never held court council in the great throne room. Nor were notices ever posted that ordered all of Camelot's nobles to attend. Outside, the commoners were ordered to gather, too.

Queen Guinevere sat in her chair on the throne. The first time since her marriage. The king’s chair remained empty. However, Queen Guinevere did not come alone. Legally appointed regent, she brought six others. Six advisors, who flanked her. Three sat on each side.

She brought Gaius for medical matters.  
Sir Leon, as General of the Army.  
An advisor for legal issues.  
One for finance.  
One for harvest.  
And one for city maintenance and construction.

Guinevere rose and gave a short speech on the financial distress of Camelot. When she finished, she issued her first order. A new levy. She then nodded to her financial advisor, who quickly rose as two guards positioned a table and chair ten paces before the throne. With his record books on the table and a large strongbox at his feet, the financial advisor started beckoning the nobles forward.

Many of the men started to grumble of the illegality, with Lord Devain grumbling loudest. But as the men stood grumbling, the noble women started moving forward. The same women that Guinevere approached in the market, day after day. With their heads held high and proud, the women stood first in line to pay the new levy.

The grumbling men grew quiet from embarrassment. Most of the women were their wives. Shuffling, with head lowered, they joined their wives in line or left to retrieve their purses. 

The same happened in the courtyard. Only, the common women came forward, first.

Ten paces behind the financial advisor, the council served all those who had business that day.

As Lord Devain moved forward in line, he watched the maidservant skillfully handle the court’s business. He listened to her seek specific facts and details from her experts before ruling. When he reached the table, put his coins down and had his taxes recorded, he bowed his head with respect to her before turning to leave.

After four hours, two strongboxes filled with tributes rested at Queen Guinevere’s feet. Many of the nobles remained in the throne room out of shock or curiosity. Before adjourning the council, Guinevere stood and nodded to Sir Leon, General of the Army and to her financial advisor, who had rejoined her flank. Her last order of business, she said, “Pay Camelot’s army.”


	7. Bewitched

Arthur walked up the steps that led downward, into the ancient caves of Caerleon. Near the top, he stopped and gazed beneath his boots at the cavity-riddled platform that four-legged creatures feared to cross. A bear’s claw, he absentmindedly untangled the old nail from one of the small jagged holes in the sandstone. His mind weary with worry, he continued to the outside world. Exiting near the dormant treeline, two larger boulders marked the entrance to the ancient caverns. Arthur rested a hand upon one as he looked east into the trees, toward Camelot. Further north, his army once set up camp when Queen Annis brought her own to the border. 

Both kingdoms were in peril again, but Arthur knew that a single combat would not solve this problem. As he wondered what next to do, he had never felt so lost. Or alone. Nearly seven years, Merlin had been far more than his manservant. He had been his sounding board, his confidant, his secret advisor. Insolent from the beginning, Merlin had always offered him advice and often when unsolicited. Arthur knew that he would readily ask for his advice, now, but Merlin was the main reason that he felt so lost. And alone.

And angry. 

Merlin was a sorcerer. Reason enough to be irate but three days, now, he had known and his anger refused to dissipate. In fact, he felt his anger getting stronger. And dangerously so, to make him lose his honor. He had just lied to Merlin. Had lied in his anger. Retrieving a box of gold had not been the reason that he saved his life. Truth be told, he had returned to save Merlin without a second thought about the gold. That was the nature of their companionship. Merlin would have risked his life to saved him, too. And he had. Countless times.

That much was undeniable Arthur now knew, after three days of contemplation. Drowning in a lake, Merlin had saved his life. The questing beast, a poisoned goblet… the list went on. And every seemingly insurmountable challenge that he faced… an immortal army, a formidable dragon, a torn spirit veil, Morgana’s betrayal, his uncle’s betrayal… Merlin had always been at his side. 

Arthur started walking toward his rabbit snares set deep in the trees. While he walked, he finally admitted to himself the true reason for his unyielding anger. Merlin’s sexual scent. His anger was not dissipating because Merlin’s scent was not dissipating. The complete opposite, instead, his anger was getting stronger because Merlin’s scent was getting stronger.

Caerleon’s women and even Queen Annis had found his horny odor appealing. That was natural, Arthur thought. But he, too, was finding it appealing, incredibly appealing, and that was unnatural. Beyond unnatural to him, he turned his face toward the skies and shouted at the greater gods that be. "It's an aberration," he yelled. "I am a king! A warrior! A leader of men! I am a husband, for heaven's sake, and in love with my wife! So, tell me! How can I desire another man? It contradicts all that I am!”

Standing and listening for an answer, birds in upheaval was all that he heard. Hundreds of birds, chattering in the treetops. Arthur exhaled. He really didn't expect an answer since he believed that no deities were there. Once he yelled his anger out, he started to calm, aided by two hares caught in his snares. 

However, after he bludgeoned and untangled the rabbits, he abruptly stood. There was an explanation to his aberration. Sorcery! Merlin had bewitched him! But why, he wanted to know. Why would Merlin bewitch him after seven years together? He snatched up his bloody animals and started stomping from the trees. Once he reached the treeline that gave way to wide open sky, he saw the reason that the birds chirped in upheaval. An ominous cloud blackened the southwestern horizon.

As he stomped into the caverns, he would demand an answer from Merlin. He wanted to know, why! 

 

Merlin stood at a chiseled opening and watched the storm roll in. Below him, the valley spread wide as distance revealed its splendor. Gazing northwest, he saw the waving plains of Caerleon. A corner of the plains, anyway. He imagined that Caerleon’s castle stood further north, beyond the grassy hills. 

The valley below was dormant, now. As brown as the grass on the plains. However, Merlin knew that, very soon, all would be green, again. New life, born from the storms of Spring. Leafless trees and cold lakes and all manner of creature waited, eager for her arrival. Despite the agony that she put him through, he had waited for her, too. Like all of nature, he waited for the bountiful life that she gave the earth.

Now, life to him was not worth living. So, he stood in the chiseled opening and watched her storm roll in. He would stare her in the face and let her passions claim him. He was certain that Arthur did not want him. What good was he to their destiny, now, he thought. A known sorcerer, he would be hunted and persecuted until he took sanctuary in the darker side of magic, like Morgana.

He understood her better, now. She had the courage to fight for her magic when all the while he had hidden his own. He knew that the current ache in his heart would be a thousand times more painful if he had fought for acceptance like Morgana but still denied. No wonder she had gone mad.

A future filled with insanity and evil, he did not want but what he could not bear was Arthur's hatred, fear and loathing while hounding him. Spring had a remedy for that. He had only to stand there.

Tears streamed down his face, dripping from his chin.

While Merlin stood crying and waiting for death, a warm breeze suddenly chased the season’s chill. He gasped as the warmth seemed to pass right through him. The breeze continued inside the caverns when a voice spoke to him. A woman’s voice. Her tone seemed as wise as time itself and yet young and flirty and gay. In a sensuous whisper that was almost a giggle, she said, “Emrys, welcome home.”

"What," he startled and whirled around. 

“I asked, why,” Arthur demanded.

Merlin jolted. With his mouth jerked open from his jolt, he wondered how his big ears had missed the echoing boots, let alone, the boots come to stand so close behind him.

Arthur jolted, too, but mainly from the tears streaming down his face. He followed the source to wretched eyes and suddenly he knew why. He knew the answer. It made him take a step backward. He changed his question and asked, instead, “At the wagon, you said that you wanted to stay and protect me but that you had to leave. Why?” 

Merlin turned his back to hide his tears. Gazing outside again, he answered in a tone of drained emotions. "Arthur, the reason is staring us in the face.”

Arthur gazed over his shoulder through the chiseled opening. The ominous mass came directly toward them. An unnerving sight seen from so high up, Arthur remembered Merlin's powerful yells and screams as they rode the winds and rains. Sounds that he would never forget, he swallowed hard before he said, “then, perhaps you should move away.”

 

Merlin took refuge deep in the third chamber and huddled inside an angle of gloaming. Arthur seemed less angry and even helpful, so he postponed dying for a while. His eyes constantly moved as Arthur constantly moved, changing the angles and shades upon the walls. More alarming than Arthur’s flurry, Merlin felt the same unusual breeze gently swirling inside the caverns. He feared that he and Arthur were not alone.

Tension springing his steps, Arthur gathered more wood and rocks and made a fire for Merlin. He then took every extra piece of clothing they had and surprising to Merlin, his royal cloak, too, and made him a softer bed. “Not much,” Arthur said, after he spread the grey cloak atop the small heap. “But I believe, better than roots in a gully.” He suddenly remembered what Merlin was doing in the roots and he took off, nervous again.

Arthur soon returned with his two rabbits and sat by the fire. Busy with the task of skinning one, he tried to ignore Merlin's mounting sexual desire. However, he found it hard to ignore with his periphery constantly glancing upon him. He felt his own desires mounting, too. As Arthur sat, he started to accept the truth. Deep down, he always had known that their companionship was far more than a bromance. As he sat, he accepted, too, that Merlin's sexual scent was forcing him to face that fact. Until now, he had been unwilling and that had made his anger. Far more angry than the secret magic. Now, after three days of being irate, he felt his anger finally dissipate.

A few lightning flashes danced on the columns. Then, came thunder. Merlin spoke up, requesting his privacy. “Arthur, I think that you should go, now.” 

“Of course, of course,” he answered, quick and nervous. Equally fast, he gathered his hares and went into the second chamber.

Both sat in awkward silence to the darkening angles and shades until Merlin called out, "Arthur." Normal as he could muster, his voice echoed through the passageways. “What is this place,” he asked.

Arthur could hear his struggle to sound normal. Seeking a tone of normalcy, too, he answered but louder than necessary. “The Ancient Caves of Caerleon," he said. "No one knows who built them but myths and legends say that Blodeuwedd once resided here." 

“Blodeuwedd?”

“The goddess of spring.” 

Merlin gasped.

Normal to hear him gasp considering his circumstance, Arthur tried to continued. “According to the old peasant folklore, Blodeuwedd seduced Gronw in these caverns, although she was married to Lleu. She and Gronw then plotted but unsuccessfully to kill Lleu. In punishment, Lleu’s mother changed Blodeuwedd into an owl but some say that her spirit still haunts these caverns.” 

Merlin gasped, again. This time, from both.

Arthur fought hard to control his voice as he said, “the locals are frightened to venture here,” he suddenly stopped, losing his struggle but he still tried to speak. His voice trembling with desire, he said, “They fear the fate of Gronw who suffered a strange and savage demise at the hands of,” He stopped again to the lightning, thunder and rains, unable to resist Merlin's moans mixed with pain and need as his warm sexual scent saturated the caverns.

The angles and shades started to change, again. Merlin fought panic. “Arthur, no,” he begged and huddled inside his angle of dim. Drawing in his knees, he pleaded, “Don’t come in here. Please, don't. Or I might, I might,”

"Enchant me," he asked. Love and need danced in his eyes as he gazed down upon Merlin. Slow and deliberate he then crossed the chamber and knelt beside his drawn legs. Reaching for his shoulder, Arthur assured him with the whispered words, “I'm not enchanted."

“Yes, Arthur! Yes, you are!” He tried to withdraw from his touch but the wall got in his way. “Don’t you realize that my magic is making you do this,” he pleaded, desperate to make Arthur understand. He tried to rise but the hand on his shoulder held him firmly in place. Merlin continued to beg, “Arthur, no. Please. You must go,” 

“Then, make me go," he whispered. "Use your magic to make me leave. Remove your enchantment from me.” He challenged Merlin to prove his claim while settling upon his haunches. With his weight, he pressed against his legs and pinned them to the wall. Merlin lacked the willpower to make him go. Although he begged, he leaned deeper into his touch. “Please, no, Arthur. You’ll hate me and yourself, too, if we do this,” 

“Merlin, I know that it’s your magic and your scent and your love for me. I know all of these thing,” he said as his hand searched gently for entry inside his trousers. "I know that you love me. And I now know that I love you, too. I always have." 

Merlin cried to hear the words. All protest left him when he felt Arthur’s warm hand wrap around his throbbing flesh. In his weakness, he laid his head against Arthur's shoulder and wept at the power of Spring. 

Arthur soothed him with gentle kisses to his hair as his hand found a rhythm. Slow at first, he increased his motion in tune with Merlin’s own ravening kisses to his neck. When Merlin sought his mouth, openly pleading for it, Arthur knew that it was time. With one hand upon his back, he brought them deeper into their kiss while his other hand worked with a firm rush to release him.

As soon as Merlin regained his senses, he tried to protest, again. With his last breaths, he pleaded, “Arthur, go now. You must go. Please, leave…” As he feared would happen, Arthur was already feeling his flesh start to throb, again, demanding more. Merlin tried to move again but he could not make himself move. He tried to resist but he could not make himself resist as Arthur lowered him upon the grey cloak and started to remove their clothes. 

Merlin lacked the willpower to make him go. He closed his eyes and turned silent pleas to Spring for mercy. He beseeched her warm breeze swirling gently in the caverns to release Arthur from her spell. A kindred spirit and magic of the earth, like himself, his mind begged her, 'please, make him stop. Make him go. Please...'

She answered him with more lightning flashes that danced in angles and shades upon the many walls. When Merlin felt his legs lifted upon the broad shoulders and when he felt his own muscles give way and let Arthur go deep inside him, he stopped begging and surrendered to her ruthless power. After all, she had accomplished her goal. Whether grateful or not, Merlin knew that Spring had seduced Arthur, for him. 


	8. Frolic and Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a strange, rough and what many would consider a gross sexual scene. However, the scene is designed to show Merlin's magnitude of suffering. Spring's wanton demands leave not only Merlin but myself with an inexplicable, "no." The roughness is also a part of the continuing plot... I hope that those who read it are not too offended.

The hours passed as warm air swirled around their bodies lying naked in an angle of moonlight dim. Spring's ending storm changed their bouts of fiery passion to hips joined in sensuous sway. Both courted sleep as the angles and shades faded into darkness. An occasional lightning flash made them reappear. To each flash, Merlin pressed tighter against Arthur. "Does this mean that you're not going to kill me," he uttered.

"Not for three weeks, anyway," he drowsily answered. "I believe that's how long this incredible scent will last. You always go home for three weeks, each year. But you never convinced me that you went to till your mother's soil. You don't seem the farmer type," he bragged on his earlier perception.

"I do till her soil in the days before I leave, after the major storms," he corrected him. "But at night, while the others are asleep."

"No doubt, with magic," Arthur surmised. "And then you laze around as usual, hiding all day. That much hasn't changed."

Merlin smiled at his humor. He took Arthur's hand and brought it up to his heart. He never imagined such love and joy but he had to say, "Arthur, you must return to Camelot. Everyone will be worried about you."

"Let them worry," he said, somewhat dismissive. "Leon will handle things while I'm away. He's done so, before. Many times." He justified his long absence.

"But Gwen will be beside herself," he reminded Arthur. Roundabout, he tried to determine Arthur's future intents or if he were indeed bewitched. Arthur claimed that he was not.

"I know she'll worry," he said. "But my absence will let her rule in my stead. After three weeks, perhaps she'll understand better the demands of sovereignty and no longer challenge my methods."

Not the words that Merlin wanted to hear, he remained silent.

**

Chiseled doorways into heaven. Merlin now considered the Ancient Caverns of Caerleon heaven, itself. He stood naked in a doorway and gazed about the endless sky. As he gazed, he yearned the whispered words, “Emrys, welcome home." But a strange phrase, he knew that destiny demanded them back to Camelot. Arthur had also made it clear that Gwen would stay his queen. Merlin knew that the caverns must become a distant memory for them and simply the accident that it was…

Standing and thinking, he decided to take joy in the few glorious days that Spring had granted him with Arthur. Today, he thanked her but tomorrow, he knew that he would damn her. A cruel future she had designed, to always be at Arthur’s side but never able to touch him. So cruel a future, he pushed it from his mind and gazed about the earth and sky. After the storm, everything shimmered like diamonds but still no comparison to the wealth that he now felt in his heart. Yesterday, he stood ready to die. Now, he wanted to live for all eternity…

A voice behind him spoke, “There you are.” He turned his face and saw that Arthur was naked, too. And smiling. As Arthur walked up close behind him, he leaned back against his chest and rested his head upon his shoulder. Arthur buried his face into the curve of his neck and inhaled deeply of his maddening scent. With an arm, he circled Merlin and gently cupped his sac. His other hand already sought his private and intimate warmth. “Sore,” he asked against his neck as he cautiously pressed his fingertip, easing it gently inside him.

“Should I be,” Merlin answered, curiously.

Arthur gave a perplexed laugh. “I don’t know," he said. "But I’ve heard rumor.” To his surprise, he found Merlin supple, pliant and ready to receive him. Much like he found Guinevere. “Perhaps, the rumors are wrong,” he surmised and he trailed tender kisses down his spine while slowly bending his knees. He then stood while entering him in one continuous motion stopped only when his loins pressed flush against his cheeks. Once secure inside his warmth, Arthur wrapped his other arm around him and cupped him with both hands. He then engaged them in the slightest sway while they stood and gazed for miles upon the glistening world below. 

“Arthur, I was wondering,” he spoke and with a reflection that challenged the shiniest lake. Like the new life of Spring, he wanted a new life, too. He wanted finally to reveal his magic to everyone.

“Wondering what,” he asked absentmindedly while lost in the moment.

“When we return home,” he started but he felt Arthur flinch and stop swaying. Merlin took cue that Arthur still wanted to avoid the topic of home. He understood why. Arthur had no explanation for Gwen. Neither did he. Merlin changed his words and said, instead. "When we return home, you must keep my magic a secret until you've had time to change Camelot's witchcraft laws.”

Merlin felt relief enter Arthur as he started to sway them, again. He let himself be swayed. They would return to Camelot with no mention of his magic, their lovemaking or an explanation for Gwen. Secrets and lies, again. Status quo for himself but a loss of honor for Arthur, Merlin blamed himself for that. A miserable failure in his destiny to protect Arthur, he lacked the willpower when Arthur was being bewitched.

Arthur cupped one hand tighter and gripped Merlin's length with his other as he brought them to a shared release. They continued to stand a moment longer, reveling in their after shudders. Arthur then announced, “I’m famished. Let’s check my snares and gather more firewood and water.” 

“Snares,” he asked, turning in Arthur's arms and casually wrapping his own around him to grip his cheeks. He moved in for a kiss but saw remorse enter Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur pulled away. In his remorse, he explained, “My hunting gear was stolen from the wagon, too.”

Merlin let him go. He wanted to promise Arthur that he would get the gold back. But realistic, he offered all that he could manage to say. “I’m sure that we’ll think of something.”

Arthur forced a smile, determined that the peril of two kingdoms would not dampen his brilliant day. He even joked, “at least, Gwen will now have boasting rights. I’m left with no choice but to issue that new levy, as she demanded.” 

Remorse suddenly entered Merlin, as well. He glanced at Arthur as he started leaving. “I’ll fetch our clothes,” he said, now thoroughly convinced that Arthur was bewitched. Contrary to his statement, Gwen had never boasted or made demands upon him. As he walked away, Arthur watched his naked backside, eager to erase remorse with frolic. “Bring only the pot to carry the water,” he ordered.

Merlin looked around at him. “But what about our clothes,” he asked with objection. “It’s still cool, outside.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin," he said. "Can’t you feel the weather from in here?” 

Yes, Arthur was indeed bewitched, he concluded. Venturing outside in the nude was far from kingly behavior. With subtle sarcasm, he said, “Just the pot, sire,” giving parody on the word, sire. A risky retort but he knew that Arthur had absolutely nothing to throw at him. More risky, he stopped and flexed his hips muscles, certain that Arthur still watched them.

It brought an honest laugh from Arthur that chased his last remorse. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you, Merlin,” he joked, and with a double meaning while playfully stroking his flesh.

Despite their play, Merlin remained worried. He might have to use his magic to keep them warm, once outside. He knew that he had not bewitched Arthur, however, he now feared the depth of his complicity to keep him bewitched. Worry and curiosity both on his face, Merlin followed him the breadth of the outer chamber to the farthest wall. But a fake wall, another stood behind it. Sandwiched between the two polished slaps, the steps to Caerleon's caves were revealed to him, at last. They walked the depth of the caverns in a slow ascend, lighted by the last chiseled doorway. As they made their way upward, Merlin asked, "Arthur, how did you know that these caverns were here?"

"In a quest. Years ago. The sonnets of Agrippina led me to them," he uttered but the caverns amplified his words like a major proclamation.

"Sonnets," he asked, surprised. "You read poetry?"

"Breathe a word of that to another living soul and it will be your last breath," he threatened. 

"Certainly, Arthur," he said but smiled at his back as he followed him outside. To his amazement, the weather felt wonderful. An enchanted few acres or Spring’s normal design he didn’t know which but he knew that he had not enchanted the weather, either. Taking integrity wherever he could find it, he started to relax. 

Both as naked as the pristine sky, they stood high on the cliff top and admired the panorama. North, the plains a kilometer below rolled endlessly but in the south, the terrain dipped into deeper valleys. Turning their thoughts east toward the trees, their thoughts were brief. East led to Camelot. As if a harsh reality to them, they quickly dismissed east and returned their minds to their empty bellies. Laughing and joking, they walked to check the snares. Once inside the eastern forest, their laugher and jokes turned to frolic. Playing tongue tag, each pretended to hide behind a big tree while the other passed unsuspectingly by. Terrible pretense, since they watched each other hide. 

Merlin soon grew weary of their little game. When Arthur jumped out, ready to steal his peck of a kiss, Merlin grabbed him by his shoulders and kissed him long and hard. The sheer force pushed Arthur backward, until the tree that he jumped from behind stopped him. Arthur felt an added sensation rush through him as his back curved around the tree trunk. It made him groan into their kiss, desperate for more but the need for air broke them. It broke the sensation, too. With his mouth ajar and vision dilating, he stood while trying to control his swooning body.

Merlin gave a proud little smirk to leave Arthur standing dazed and mesmerized as he went to hide behind the next big tree. Arthur, however, was desperate to recapture the mystical sensation. He quickly composed himself and rushed to follow. Merlin waited for him to pass unsuspectingly by, again. And he waited. And waited. Suddenly, warm hands pushed him chest-first against the tree trunk. "Not fair," he protested while bracing his hands with quick reflexes to keep his bare chest from slamming into the rough bark. 

Arthur laughed, relishing in his maneuver. While he laughed and relished, he was already breaching Merlin's supple body. Once deep inside him, Arthur felt the same mystical sensation but much more pronounced. He had no words to explain it but he sensed that Merlin knew exactly what he felt. 

As the strange sensation consumed him, he moaned out, desperate to have more. He wrapped his arms around Merlin and tree trunk, both. Arthur felt himself becoming a part of the tree, the ground, the birds in the sky. He laughed out, hysterically so to feel the powerful energy in the air, the changing season, the sparks tickling his feet, the plants bursting from seeds deep within the ground, the trees forming new leaves… He felt the birth of life, itself. Immortal. Constantly changing, yet always the same. As his spirit mingled with the earth and with Merlin, he started to cry out, obsessed to have more. “Merlin, Merlin, Merlin,” he sobbed out in rhythm with his thrusts, as each tried to reach deeper and bring him closer to his own immortality. 

Merlin tried to give Arthur all that he sought. He widened his stance, curved his hips in offering and rested his nape upon his shoulder. Gazing through the branches and into the blue eternal sky, he knew that Arthur was feeling all the things that he felt. Finally, Arthur was knowing him. The realization brought hysterical cries of joy to him, as well.

 

 

Three days they frolicked outside, playing games that led to Arthur sharing Spring with Merlin at every opportunity that he could conceive. Gathering firewood, he often engaged in brief moments of splendor when Merlin stooped and lingered to lift a piece of fallen branch. Bathing in an unseasonably warm lake, he floated on his back while underneath him and allowed the water to sway their motions. Collecting nuts, he found opportunity to mingle with nature. Checking the snares, hunting grouse, fetching water… 

Merlin continued to thank Spring for her temporary gift to satisfy her sexual savagery upon him.

On the fourth day as they frolicked outside, they noticed the next storm moving in. More powerful than the last, it blanketed the entire southwestern, southern and southeastern skies. Arthur saw the fear enter Merlin’s face. The frolic was over and by habit, Arthur ordered, “Let’s gather enough firewood, food and water. We’ll take refuge deep within the fourth chamber. Maybe the storm won’t be so hard on you, in there.”

Merlin simply nodded and went to work. Breaking dead branches with his bare foot, he gathered all his arms could carry. Arthur left immediately for the snares.

 

 

Spring raged long and hard as if she had something to prove as she danced the smaller angles and shades in the fourth chamber with her maniacal flashes. The harder she danced, the louder Merlin yelled and screamed. He had never felt her so loose or so vulgar or so tawdry. Sitting low and stationary as though she gyrated directly above the caverns, she seemed determined to kill him.

Merlin seemed determined to kill Arthur. He forcefully took what his body needed, which was tantamount to rape if Arthur had not been a willing participant. After hours of consensual struggle and rough lovemaking, Arthur was sore and exhausted but Merlin still thrashed in a savage desire, pushed far beyond the limits of any normal human being. Sweat pouring and their sexual scents mingling strong in the warm air, Arthur did all that he knew to help satisfy him.

It was not enough.

But Arthur had nothing left. Physically exhausted and emotionally wrung to hear his heartbreaking yells and screams erupt time and again, Arthur spooned behind him in an angle of deepest dim and tried to shield him from her unyielding fury. He covered them with his grey cloak, pressed Merlin into the wall and with both arms wrapped around him, he tried to hold him through another bout of lusting agony. 

With a corner of his royal cloak, Arthur constantly wiped tears and sweat from Merlin’s face as his own streamed the same that dripped down upon Merlin’s temple and cheek. Arthur grew frightened that he might lose Merlin, that night. If he did, Arthur suspected that grief and exhaustion would keep him curled beside him and both would die, deep in the Caves of Caerleon.

The yells and screams resounding throughout the caverns became too much for Arthur to bear. Lost to all else, he started to apologize. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I'm so sorry," he said, "but I must do this. I must, at least, try…” He spoke against his ear, seeking to prepare him for what he was about to do. He knew that Merlin had gone beyond coherent response or ability to listen but he still apologized even as he coated his entire hand with the semen covering their loins. “Forgive me,” he whispered, and he started easing four fingers into him.

When Merlin felt the enormous pressure, he tried to nod through his thrashing agony. Arthur started to cry as he added his thumb and pushed all five fingers up to his knuckles. He still pushed although Merlin grabbed desperately at his flank, his magic seeping and fingers clawing blood from Arthur’s hip and thigh. The many walls and high ceilings took on a gothic surrealism that reduced Arthur to literal sobs. With a final, "I'm sorry," he pushed, forcing his entire hand inside him.

Merlin quaked with shudders that threatened to rip him apart. But his body still would not satisfy. Arthur gave one more effort. He wrapped a hand around Merlin's length while he worked his other into position inside him. Suddenly, Arthur made a fist. Merlin exploded. He came for what seemed forever until the desire controlling his body finally started to ease. He managed to take Arthur’s hand from his length and bring it up to his lips. In a deathlike gasp, he said with a kiss to the back of his hand, “thank you,” as he faded.

Arthur yelled. At the top of his lungs.

Spring raged harder, crackling and booming in her lust for life. With her gaudiness flashing distorted and surreal in his mind, Arthur left running. Exhausted, naked, crying, bleeding and nearly crazy, he grew desperate to escape her lascivious sovereignty. A mere mortal against her epic design upon Merlin, he saw the ledge coming into view. His mind screamed to her, ‘Take my life, instead! End this, now! Please, no more!" In his escape, he ran for the ledge.

But suddenly he realized how much Merlin needed him. Worse than his own death was the thought of Merlin struggling against her wanton cruelty, all alone. It made Arthur extend his arms and with barely his fingertips, he grabbed both sides of the opening and stopped his momentum. Defeated by her lustful dominance, he fell to his knees. Sitting upon his haunches on the terrace, he turned his face toward her storm. Crying, with his arms held up in surrender to her powers, he let her raging rains pound down upon him and in her victory, she washed away his blood and his heartache.


	9. Home

Three consecutive days Spring let loose in a scintillating exhibition, bombarding the earth with her powerful lust for life. She stopped long enough to replenish her heavy clouds like the milk of verve forming in her bosom. A couple of hours here, several there, and then she would let loose, again, undulating and downpouring in waves upon the earth.

Arthur took advantage of her replenishing moments to fetch whatever he could forage -- another grouse, a hare, more nuts, firewood to let dry -- but whenever she resumed her flashy dance, spilling her mammary upon the land, he ran back to Merlin. Always there to ease his pains yet Arthur could not take his reverberating vocals as they turned the caverns into an insane asylum. Each time Merlin threatened to wake, groggy and in his mounting agony, Arthur reclined beside him and released his powerful desires, now that he had discovered how.

As the skies slowly cleared, Merlin turned flat on his back and while sprawled eagle and naked, his snores resonated low and peacefully off the many walls. Music to Arthur’s ears. After three long and tiring days, Arthur sat naked, too, propped across the chamber inside an angle of gloaming and watched him sleep.

Bit by bit, Merlin filtered back to some semblance of awareness. His eyes opened to the low hanging sandstone directly above him. In his grogginess, he remembered where he was, this time. He knew that he lay sprawled deep in the fourth chamber of Caerleon's caves. He also remembered Spring. He remembered her gaudy dance and his own vivid vocals. Although she seemed more determined than ever to have him dead, he felt vastly different, somehow. For once, his body was not racked and edgy and riddled with pain. In fact, he felt very calm, peaceful and incredibly…

Satisfied.

Merlin suddenly remembered how and he closed his eyes, again. He then scrunched his face as if to erase his memories. He prayed for amnesia or that Arthur had gone. Had returned to Camelot. How could he face Arthur after his lusting body had constantly demanded… had literally begged that Arthur employ… had shamelessly consumed his entire… fist.

Merlin uttered one inexplicable word. “No.”

Arthur sat watching him. In a voice that pretended to be gruff, he said while standing. “At least, I now know how to shut you up.”

Merlin tightened his cringe to hear his voice. He prayed again but this time for unconsciousness.

Arthur continued to speak in his gruff manner as he retrieved a ladle of water from the pot. “I thought that your big mouth would topple the walls down around us,” he said, while using Merlin’s undoubted thirst as an excuse to approach him. Despite his feigned gruffness, he knelt and gave him a drink while tenderly cupping his chin and rubbing at his jaw.

Merlin sipped long and slow, seeking escape in each measured swallow. When the water was gone, he had no choice but to acknowledge his embarrassment. Meekly, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Arthur replied while standing, again. “You must be hungry,” he surmised and he started leaving for the second chamber to retrieve a rabbit roasting over the fire. As he walked away, he added, “I’m more grateful that I'm here. I can’t imagine you having to go through that much pain while all alone,”

"Arthur!" Merlin suddenly called out in a voice that trembled with guilt and terror.

Heeding his cry, Arthur stopped in the bright angle of light. He then glanced down at his hip and upper thigh. "Don't be such a girl, Merlin," he said, and he continued to walk out. "They're just powerful passion marks."

Merlin watched him change angles and cast silhouettes. He felt grateful to hear his normally surly tone but obviously a pretense, he knew that Arthur had just experienced the worst that Spring had ever seduced him. Receiving injury, Arthur had not run from him screaming in fear but had stayed at his side and had performed the unthinkable. Bewitched or not, he felt that Arthur had proven his love for him. The knowledge soothed away his embarrassment while welling tears in his eyes.

 

 

Gradually, it was occurring. A little bit, day by day. Arthur had not noticed until they returned from a frolic. Merlin’s scent was almost gone. Once angered by it, Arthur now found himself saddened that it was leaving. Their days of frolic were coming to an end and they must soon return to Camelot.

The thunder and lightening storms had also become less severe. Nearly three weeks in the Caves of Caerleon, Merlin stood naked on the cliff top and rejoiced in a lesser rain. With his magic sensuously mingling with the afterglows of earth’s ultimate intercourse, he reached his hands toward the heavens and admired her energy that sparked visibly from his fingertips and high into the sky. He had survived another Spring’s beginning.

Arthur stood back in awe and watched him share love with nature, itself.

Merlin smiled to see his awe. He beckoned Arthur to join him. Little consolation, but he sought to offer an iota of amends for all that he was putting Arthur through-- the lost gold, the bewitching, the infidelity, the secrets, the lies, the scars on his side. Just powerful passion marks, Arthur had said but he knew that Arthur would suffer far more than a few physical scars because of him.

Somewhat hesitant but intrigued to arousal, Arthur moved in close behind. With their loins joined in sensuous sway, he reached his own hands toward the heavens and admired her energy that sparked visibly from his fingertips and high into the sky. Arthur then started to cry. Within the reach of his fingertips, he could now grasp it. His own immortality. Consumed by that thought, he knew that nothing else would ever compare. Not his kingship, his kingdom or even his wife. But Camelot was his life and the mortal reality that he must live. Arthur resigned himself to face that fact. With an incredible effort, he broke from Merlin and stepped away. They would return to Camelot as if the Caverns of Caerleon had never occurred.

However, Arthur's decision left him feeling angry, again, empty and cross.

*

*

Dressed in his hunting clothes with Excalibur at his waist, Arthur sat their three day pace. Merlin carried his royal crown and cloak in a tattered knapsack as they set out on the journey to Camelot. Everything else… the chain mail, grey cloak, cooking pots and peasant clothes… they left behind. Both refused to look back. As they entered the eastern trees in total silence, they already yearned, again, for the ancient caverns of Caerleon. Each felt that he yearned for their true home.

A day and a half of walking, they were in luck. Riders wearing the deep red cloaks of a Camelot patrol came trotting down the narrow and muddy road. Galloping their horses, when the riders came to a halt, Gwaine's elated face beamed down at them. He laughed, “A prettier sight I have yet to see,” and he quickly dismounted. Giggling like a big bearded girl, his arms went around both of their necks, pulling them into a tight embrace.

Merlin reciprocated but Arthur stood, grunting and objecting. Still the king, he disapproved of Gwaine's open affection, especially with the other four knights looking on while they dismounted, too.

Gwaine laughed louder. “Then, run me through,” he said as he hugged them tighter before he released his hold. His arm remained draped around Merlin’s neck, swaying him back and forth. “We feared the worst. Everyone was losing hope,” 

Arthur interrupted his jovial greetings. “And news of Camelot,” he insisted.

Gwaine's jovial face gave way to a little furrow. He felt convinced that his answer would have a double meaning for an absent king. “Couldn’t be better,” he admitted, but with an apologetic tilt of his head.

Leery to believe him in light of Camelot’s finances, Arthur furrowed, too.

The expression prompted Gwaine to explain. “An excellent queen you’ve chosen," he said. "But she misses you, dearly." He retrieved his reins and handed them to Arthur. "I suggest that you get back to her and without further delay." Then smiling again, he added, "I’ll let Merlin tell me where you two have been, all this time.” Happy to share a horse and spend the time with Merlin, he draped his arm over his shoulder again and ruffled his hair.

Arthur took his reins but rather curt, he called, “Merlin,” while beckoning him toward another knight's horse. As Arthur mounted, he said with equal curtness to all the knights, “I'll see you back in Camelot.”

Merlin lowered his head and only glanced at Gwaine before obeying. He mounted, too and had to chase after Arthur to catch up, leaving Gwaine standing while scratching at his stubble and asking his companions, “That's the reception we get, after missing for nearly a month?"

 

Almost midnight when Arthur and Merlin trotted into Camelot, the tolling bells rousted everyone in initial upheaval until they learned of the good news. King Arthur had returned. A guard scurried to notify the queen and Guinevere ran from her chambers. The moment she saw Arthur entering their hallway, tears of joy streamed down her face as she rushed into his arms.

They hugged each other long and hard with Guinevere crying in relief. “Thank the heavens that you’ve come back to me, safe and well,” she said and moved her face from his shoulder to kiss him. She received a tender peck on her forehead, instead. Arthur then wrapped an arm about her waist and escorted her down the long corridor toward their chambers.

Guinevere did not press but Arthur seemed distant and changed to her. What little information that she managed to coax from him while servants prepared his bath, he said simply that he and Merlin had been held captive in a cave by a deranged woman. Not exactly a lie, he considered the weather's abuse upon Merlin that of a deranged woman. Arthur stretched the truth like a crossbow without actually shooting the arrow.

Once in the tub, Guinevere knelt at his back and administered the warm cloth to his neck and chest. She whispered comforting word to his tired and dosing body. “You’re home and safe, now," she said. "I know that you’re exhausted and I’ll let you sleep, tonight. But tomorrow, I pray that you’ll confide in me. I know that you must have been terrified. Perhaps, you’ll find solace in the knowledge that Camelot is doing well. I hope that you’ll be proud of me…”

Once she finished bathing him, she planted kisses to his ear while whispering, “Arthur, let's get you dry and in bed.”

He drowsily stood while Guinevere reached around his waist to drape the towel. It was then that she noticed the claw marks not quite healed on his hip and upper thigh. Far too wide for an animal's paw, she reasoned the marks were done by a human's hand. She also remembered seeing no shredding to his clothes when he first arrived. She checked his clothes again to be sure. More evidence to her, the human-like marks occurred while Arthur wore no breeches. What heinous torture had this deranged woman inflicted upon him, she started to imagine the worst.

 

The sun gave rise to a beautiful day. Midmorning, Guinevere lay beside Arthur with her head on his chest. She encouraged him to take more rest and in a soothing voice she informed him of the news that he had missed. “…Lot is no longer a threat," she said. "It’s been reported that he's dead. Seems, killed in a coup instigated by his wife and his brother. Rumor has it, they were having a torrid love affair. It was also reported that Morgana was somehow involved but last seen, she still traversed the northern regions, amassing her new army. But fear not. Camelot’s own is on firm grounds, after I issued a new levy,”

Arthur suddenly jumped from her arms and out of bed. He stared down in anger. “Without my consent,” he demanded.

Guinevere cowered from his hostile tone but quick to regroup, she insisted, “Arthur, your personal funds were depleted. I saw no other choice. Especially, after you explained to me how empty coffers destroy armies. I thought that you’d be pleased that I took the initiative in your absence. A kingdom without its king is equally vulnerable. Imagine my dilemma, unable to send riders to other kingdoms to inquire of your whereabouts, fearful of that fact?”

Arthur turned from her and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Guinevere," he said, since he had decided to issue a new levy, himself. “You were right to do so.”

“Arthur, please,” she begged. “Tell me what happened while you were held captive? Was this woman cruel to you?”

He wiped his face to yet another stretched crossbow before he turned and answered, “No more cruel than any other deranged being.”

Guinevere ensured that her tone was understanding but she had to asked, “Did this strange woman leave those scars on your side?”

Arthur startled. He grabbed at his upper hip, covered by his sleeping tunic before he stifled his start. “It’s nothing, Gwen,” he insisted, now going toward his wardrobe.

His evasive attitude left her to imagine every inconceivable evil and she rushed from the bed to comfort him. “Arthur, what did this woman do to you,” she begged, reaching for his hand but she grew more alarmed when he moved it from her reach as if getting a change of clothes. “Arthur,” she pleaded.

“Gwen, I just need more time to adjust,” he insisted. “Allow me a few days and perhaps I’ll be able to share my ordeal with you.”

“Of course, Arthur,” she said, reluctantly granting his wish. “But please, don’t lock me out. Not when you need me the most.”

He gave her a weary nod and then started to get dressed. Thankful that the subject was dismissed, he forced a smile for her as he said, “I’m grateful that you issued the new levy.”

 

Unlike Guinevere, Gaius deduced much more from Merlin. After their initial hugs, words of relief and a night's sleep, both remained unnaturally quiet on the subject. Tangoing around each other all morning, Gaius finally spoke over their lunch table. Rather bluntly, he asked, “And Arthur agreed to change Camelot’s witchcraft laws for you?”

Merlin looked up but with little surprise. He had anticipated the question as well as the conversation. “Not right away,” he answered, sounding somewhat saddened. “Arthur has a lot to worry about, right now, with Camelot’s finances, and all.”

"Perhaps, that’s what you and Arthur would lead everyone to believe,” Gaius admonished. “But we both know better. You must keep your magic a secret to keep your activities a secret. Otherwise, this strange tale spreading through the castle of a deranged woman holding you, two, captive for nearly a month is not very convincing.”

Merlin dropped his head as he uttered, “That was Arthur’s idea. He said that the weather was seducing me like a deranged woman." 

“And did Arthur willingly comfort you in your time of need or did you bewitch him?”

“Gaius," he protested. Offended by the question, he raised his head. "I would never bewitch Arthur to comfort me. He mentioned a name. Blodeuwedd.”

“Blodeuwedd!” Gaius stared at him, astounded. “From the legend of Caerleon's Caves? And what were you, two, doing so far from Camelot, anyway,” he now demanded to know.

Merlin dropped his head, again, to their blatant hunting lie. No defense for that lie, he simply said, “I’m almost certain that it was she, who bewitched Arthur. Whether he knows it or not, we never lied about a cave or a woman.”

"To Guinevere, you have,” Gaius corrected him, highly disappointment. “And how do you expect Arthur to live with her, or with himself, after what you, two, have done?”

Merlin pitifully muttered, “I don’t know.”


	10. Summer

The arduous paperwork resumed. Arthur sat hunched at one end of his dinner table and reviewed more financial figures while Merlin stood at the other end and sharpened his sword. Arthur looked up to see Guinevere walk in. She entered near his desk, again. “Guinevere, must you continue to use the servants' entrance," he snapped at her. "You are a queen, for heaven's sake.”

Flowers for his desk in hand, she had taken the shortest route to her destination. Seeking a tranquil reply, she gazed upon the velvet serenity and then she placated, “A habit that I must try harder to break, Arthur.”

Her tone left him apologetic. He muttered, “Please, make more effort,” with his shoulders hunching lower over his paperwork.

She looked down the table at Merlin but watched his eyes quickly return to his task. Merlin no longer made eye contact with her. Guinevere started to hum in efforts to lift her spirits. As she arranged the flowers, she thought what a troubled pair they had become after their long captivity. But neither would share their ordeal with her.

She surmised that the strange woman had robbed Arthur of his normal sexuality, leaving him angry and cross. He often gave her a sad smile, which seemed to reflect that loss. She knew that he fought to stay calm and even apologetic, like now, but seldom did he kiss her and they had yet to make love since the deranged woman held him captive, a season ago. When in Camelot, he still held her while they slept, or she held him, but far from the intimacy they once shared, she feared that she was losing Arthur.

Summoning resistance to her fears, she joined him at the end of the table. With a hand casually covering his papers, she suggested, “Wouldn't a picnic be nice on such a lovely day?”

His response was slow to come and she glanced around at Merlin, hoping that he would help her to convince him. Merlin kept his eyes on the sword. He anticipated that Arthur would think up another excuse to give her. Arthur did. In his slow response, he said while pulling the papers from under her hand. “I have several questions on these profits before I dispatch riders to collect them.”

Guinevere tried harder. “Arthur, I’ve ensured that our scribes have checked and rechecked the figures. Please, trust them and place your seal. Our coffers start to overflow, again. Be grateful and take rest from your long travels.”

He stood with the papers and gave her another peck on the forehead. “I am grateful," he said. "Grateful to have married such a shrewd diplomat. One capable of negotiating such trade agreements with the other kingdoms.” With an air of envy, he spoke while leaving. “Father nor I realized the fortunes to be had in Camelot’s tin, ore and copper mines.”

Guinevere persevered even as she spoke to his back. “But trade agreements made possible only by your tireless peace efforts.”

He waved a hand in the air, acknowledging what he considered a lackluster compliment as he continued out. He knew that Guinevere’s propensity for business was making Camelot rich, again. Not his constant travels or his peace negotiations.

With a sad sigh, she wondered if he would ever forget the deranged woman or the torture that she had put him through. Despair in her eyes, she also wondered if he would ever make love to her, again. As she turned her sad eyes from the door toward Merlin, she saw him staring at her. But he quickly cast his face back to the sword. He refused to make eye contact, again. Finished with his task, he bowed out, leaving the chambers, as well.

 

*

As the weather grew warm, Merlin grew warmer. A deep and inviting heat, Arthur found himself purposely keeping Merlin at arms's length. They once walked together, shoulder to shoulder and Arthur had unabashedly basked in his heat as a vital part of their unique and platonic companionship. But platonic no more, Merlin accepted Arthur's forced distance as his fortitude. He knew that Arthur was trying hard to remain faithful to Guinevere. In the narrow corridors, when Arthur purposely walked ahead, Merlin fell purposely behind. Any closer was torture for them, both.

Ordering the king's baths, changing his clothes and dressing him into his armor when in Camelot, Merlin left strickly to Guinevere, now. Besides, she was the better servant. She even thanked Merlin for it. She assumed that he was trying to give her more time with Arthur. However, Merlin found no such convenient separation when traveling with Arthur in his peace convoys. Even when Arthur slept inside his tent and Merlin slept outside, the long, sleepless and sultry nights were brutal on them, both. Despite Arthur's best efforts and fortitude, Merlin's warm summer heat soon instigated their downfall.

*

Guinevere paced about their chambers. She stopped and spoke to Arthur's back, again. Fear made her adamant. "I insist that you take at least one knight on this hunting trip!"

Arthur stood in the window while looking down at Merlin and at the horses, already waiting in the courtyard. “But Guinevere," he protested, while trying to stay calm. "What manner of king am I to require a babysitter," he asked her. Turning from the window, he appealed to her unreasonable fears. “I will not be frightened of my own shadow,” he said.

“But Arthur, this deranged woman was hardly a shadow! She may still be out there! Watching and waiting for you!”

“After six months,” he asked, now appealing to her logic. “Besides, I’ll be hunting in the opposite forest. You can rest assured that I’ll be more en garde, this time.”

“But Arthur,”

He interrupted, now appealing to her sensibility. “Guinevere, please," he pleaded. "I must do this for myself if I'm to be even half the man that I once was.”

She knew that her own pleas were falling on deaf ears. She could not convince him. Accepting that fact, she warily nodded as she said, “but please, be careful.”

With a kiss to her forehead, he left her and hurried down to Merlin.

Lancelot watched them ride out from a bay window overlooking the square. He quickly turned and paced to the royal chambers. Guinevere met him in the doorway. “Lancelot,” she fretted, while closing the door behind him. “I was right to come to you, this morning," she said. "I simply couldn’t convince him. He refuses to take any of the knights on this hunting trip. Please. For me. Ensure that he stays safe.”

"I'll watch over him with my life," he promised her but mainly to lessen her fears. He knew that Arthur could not have been in safer hands. Merlin had powerful magic. That knowledge left him doubting their long captivity tale. With a smile to help ease her worry, he left for his mount.

After he left, Guinevere moved anxiously to the window where Arthur once stood. For the longest while she prayed for Lancelot to closely shadow Arthur and Merlin and keep them safe.

 

Arthur was like a great eagle, untethered and ready to soar, once more. A tireless hunter, he lived for the vast outdoors but never had he felt such an intricate part of nature, an intricate part of the earth, itself, than when he made love to Merlin. He yearned to recapture that awe-inspiring and majestic sensation. As he rode in silence, anxious to soar, Merlin rode in equal silence but of a torn mind.

Leery of their solitary hunting trip, he didn’t know which hurt him worse. The bewitching of Arthur or the despair that he saw in Guinevere's eyes. She feared that she was losing Arthur but she didn't know why. Merlin wondered if he could ever face her again, if he now consummated her loss. Growing weary of the saddle, he finally asked, “Arthur, where are we going?”

Arthur had not stopped to use his crossbow all morning but they had seen plenty of deer, grouse and even a boar. “Don’t you recognize the trail,” he asked, still jubilant with anticipation. “You once led me here to find an old wizard. As it turns out, we came in search of you.” He laughed at the absurdity.

“That old cabin,” he asked. “But why are we,” he stopped. The answer was obvious. This was no hunting trip. It was another frolic. At that moment, he decided which hurt him worse. Gwen's eyes. Consummating her loss, he knew that he could never deny Arthur or himself.

 

A pond deep in the woods behind the old cabin, they wasted little time to strip naked. One of the season's remaining warm days, they jumped in. Arthur sought instantly to commune with nature through Merlin, again. What started in the pond quickly moved to the tree-lined banks. Moss covered grounds between the wide roots of a sweat chestnut, they spread their blanket. With arms hooked under Merlin’s legs and hands gripping the tubers, Arthur found Merlin to be incredibly hot. Between kisses, he constantly uttered, "I believe that I love summer perhaps better than spring." 

Arthur also found that he couldn't last very long. Merlin’s heat was too intense. Especially when Merlin added his own love along with his desire to give Arthur the commune with nature that he so desperately sought. With little warnings, they constantly came. Between dips in the pond to cool off, they eagerly shared Merlin's summer sun. Again. And again. And again.

In the middle of their summer heat, Lancelot felt caught in an emotional sandstorm. His mind swirled from shock to anger to disbelief to amazement and finally settled near boredom. He reclined behind a small embankment deep in the trees, propped himself upon his elbow and whittled, with knife and stick. Occasionally, he raised his head and peered over the embankment. Finding them still at it, he returned to his whittle.

As he whittled, he thought of Guinevere. He knew that he could never tell her and that made him angry. Still clinging to her sliver of doubt, he hoped that he could lift her up again, once she learned the truth.


	11. Fall

Merlin finished his daily chores, gathered herbs, returned home and with a little daylight left. Too bad that summer was ending, he thought. The days seemed longer. He and Gaius didn’t have to eat by candlelight. Surprising to Merlin, though, he found neither Gaius nor dinner waiting for him. After he emptied his herb satchel, he continued up the steps while trying to remember if he had closed his bedroom door or maybe Gaius had closed it...

As Merlin opened his door, he startled. His eyes then wandered a moment, seeking denial in the window light before he warily greeted, “Lancelot.”

Propped in his bed with legs extended, Lancelot sat with his arms crossed. He gave his usual smile but it lacked his usually warm eyes as he greeted, too. “Merlin. We haven’t seen each other much, of late.”

“Arthur’s peace negotiations,” he offered excuse. “We’ve been traveling a lot.”

Lancelot nodded. “Frankly, I'm surprised that Arthur would leave me here in charge of training, during his long trips.” 

Merlin knew that Lancelot implied Guinevere. No doubt, Lancelot deeply loved her, still, and had seen the despair in her eyes, as well. Merlin slowly turned and closed his door. With his back to Lancelot, he exhaled and then he turned to face him, again. “Where’s Gaius,” he asked, now certain that Lancelot’s presence and the old man’s absence were connected.

Lancelot gave Merlin another smile that lacked its warmth. “I believe that I made him more nervous than I make you," he said. "Gaius had sudden and urgent business to attend, in the lower town.”

Both went silent. Lancelot continued to sit with his arms crossed while Merlin stood with his back against the door. They stared into each other’s eyes for several moments. As they stared, they shared thoughts that were best left unspoken. Merlin surmised that Lancelot knew he had powerful magic, which made highly unlikely his long captivity tale. Lancelot's emotions still swirled from the pond and he thought, what the hell!

Merlin then watched Lancelot slowly stand. He saw a fieriness enter his mild eyes that he had never seen before. Despite his calm physical demeanor, Lancelot said, “I once thought Arthur the better man. Now, I will not stand idle and watch him hurt her. No more secrets. No more lies. We both know what you must do. If you decide otherwise, then you leave me no choice. To Arthur, I must throw down my gauntlet.”

Merlin flinched. He then moved aside as he watched Lancelot leave.

 

After breakfast, Guinevere sat at Arthur’s desk while reading one of her many correspondences. Queen Annis wrote requesting chain mail, pauldrons and gauntlets to better equip Caerleon’s smaller army. Guinevere furrowed as she wondered why Annis wished to waive all cost. 

Arthur finished putting on his boots just as Merlin lugged in his armor and lumped the heavy load down on the dinner table. Half of it, Merlin carried toward the corner. Arthur suddenly leaped from his seat on the blanket chest and grabbed his steel-plated spaulder from the table. Merlin watched over his shoulder and with a deep concern as Arthur glared at it. Suddenly, Arthur threw the spaulder at him, causing him to brace his shoulder to absorb the blow. “Clean it, again,” he snapped. 

Guinevere looked on in horror. “Arthur!” 

He heard the horror in her voice and whirled to face her. Guilt consuming his eyes, he quickly stormed from the room. As he rushed out, Merlin saw from the corner the remorse on his troubled face. Trouble and remorse on his own, he deposited half the armor and then stooped and lifted the unsatisfactory piece. He started leaving for the armory to polish it, again. 

Guinevere was already approaching him. She started peading, “Merlin, I beg you! What’s happening to Arthur? He’s more cross than ever!”

Merlin lowered his face, unable to look her in the eyes. He stood while staring down at Arthur’s shoulder spaulder held curved over his forearm. No shield against infidelity, he blamed himself for that. He had the magic to stop Arthur in the Caverns of Caerleon but not the willpower. He knew that Lancelot was right. He must take responsibility for his own weakness. Tears flooded his downcast eyes as he stood, trying to muster his courage. When he finally found words, he answered in a quivering tone. “Arthur is bewitched,” he uttered.

“Bewitched,” she cried out. “Then, this woman was a sorceress?”

His tears now free falling, Merlin nodded as he uttered, again. “Born of the magic of the earth.”

“Then, we must find her! Break her curse," she insisted, panic-stricken. "I’ll send riders,” she spoke as she reached for the door handle to leave, desperate to find Lancelot or Elyan or Leon or Gwaine or,

Merlin stood firmly and blocked her exit. “Gwen,” he said, finally looking her in the eyes. “You can’t find her. There is no one to find. Only, a spirit. Like the changing seasons. Arthur and Gaius both know her as Blodeuwedd. The goddess of spring.”

“A spirit,” she demanded with her face contorting. Her mind struggled to process his logic. “Why, how did a spirit sleep with,” but her worst assumption, she rephrased, “How could a spirit leave those marks on Arthur’s side?” 

Merlin openly cried. He cast his eyes down, unable to look at her, again. "I'm sorry," he sobbed out. "I'm so sorry..."

Guinevere stared at him with her mind still struggling to process his words. Then shock consumed her and she muttered, "no," unaware that she had spoken. With her face horribly misshapen, she stepped back from him. Her shoulder blade hit the corner of the armoire near the door. She winced from pain or shock or both as she squeezed into the small corner made by the wall and the chest-of-drawers. With her shoulders curved and arms hanging too limp to hold herself or push Merlin away, she muttered at him, again. “Get out.” 

"Gwen, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, pleading for forgiveness. “I did this to Arthur. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.” His head started to sway as he literally chanted in his guilt. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” 

All the while he chanted, Guinevere felt herself dying inside. Every emotion fleeted, leaving her a hollow shell. With blank eyes that shared at nothing, she said to him, again. “Leave.”

Still crying and chanting, Merlin opened the door and rushed out. He sought a place to hide as Guinevere stood braced and huddled in the corner while trying not to fall.

 

The courtier knocked, bringing Guinevere her noon meal but she got no answer. After court council, Arthur returned to their chambers and with the courage to offer her another apology for his anger and his cross. He first noticed that half of his armor still rested on the table and then he saw Guinevere. She sat at his desk with the chair turned and facing the window. Her shoulders seemed slightly curved and her hands appeared to rest in her lap. "Guinevere," he prefaced his apology but as he approached her, she never moved.

Something was wrong, he grew certain. “Gwen,” he almost whispered. "Guinevere?" He stood, staring at the back of her head.

After several moments, she answered him. Emotionally dead, she said, “Arthur, if you value your life, you will leave me be.” In her hands, she slowly twiddled a dagger by the handle.

Her cold words sent a shiver through Arthur and he stood, frozen in place. Merlin had told her, he now surmised. With no explanation or comforting words that he could offer her, he started easing backward, leaving for a guard in the outside corridor. What had he done to her, he rebuked himself, aware that she now needed help. He sent for Gaius. After the old physician arrived, Guinevere heard them whispering near the door. When Gaius started approaching her, she said one word. Asked one question. “Blodeuwedd?”

Gaius stopped. He and Arthur looked at each other. Both knew the legend. Arthur then eased toward her with hesitant steps. “Just a myth, Guinevere,” he explained with a sad and low inflection in his voice. “Just a superstition conjured up by peasants hundreds of years ago and then passed on, in sonnets.”

With no pitch, at all, in her voice, she asked, “Arthur, the same peasants to whom I give too much credit? Then, Merlin lied. You sleep with him by choice.”

Arthur was startled. He stood, confused by her logic and yet he knew that her logic rung true. He had no initial reply. The chambers stayed silent for a moment as Guinevere waited for his answer. When none came, she said, “Gaius, leave us.”

The old man's brow rose to her deduction and to her advantage maneuver. Clever woman, he thought. Gaius stood behind the king, convinced that Arthur would have been wiser to blame Blodeuwedd, like Merlin had undoubtedly said. At least, it was a bargaining tool but Arthur had stripped away his own defense. Before leaving, Gaius whispered at his back. “I’ll return with a sedative.” 

When Guinevere heard the door close, she addressed Arthur. With a blank stare at the window and her fingers still twiddling in her lap, she said, “You may have your army and your ‘hunting' trips. But I will now rule as I see fit. Camelot is mine. And you will not bring disgrace upon what is mine.” 


	12. Compromise

With sleep the only persuasion to the dagger in Guinevere’s hands, Arthur took Gaius’ advice and went hunting, again. Late afternoon when he found Merlin hiding red-eyed in his room, they rode from Camelot in awkward silence.

Game roamed plentiful in the western forest but Arthur was in no mood to hunt. The sun setting in his eyes, he flopped on a log beside a wide and rocky brook. Several branches rustled near him and he spared only glances at the largest antlers that he had ever seen. He then snorted as the stag came within meters to have a drink, giving only glances at him, in return.

As Arthur sat in weary contemplation, he thought of Guinevere. And Lancelot. And his own ridiculous efforts to show his trust in her. Perhaps, he had depended upon her trust to maintain his own but his summer frolic had proved the fallibility of his logic. Only natural for Guinevere to take gain from his fornication, but she had offered him gain, as well. Her love, strength and wisdom left him astounded. He realized just how well she knew him. A born warrior and hunter, he dreaded the daily drudgery of ruling Camelot and she offered him his freedom to do what he preferred.

On ideology, she would take her gain. Her philosophy on how to rule Camelot obviously meant a great deal to her to toss Merlin into her terms. A wise and calculating move she had made since he would be foolish to turn down his freedom from drudgery and Merlin, both. Especially when he had kicked himself out of her bed.

Arthur looked around at Merlin. Pitifully hunched, he squatted while cooking fish that he had used his magic to catch. Although they had been quiet all afternoon, he knew that Merlin blamed himself. With the sunlight dissolving into dusk, Arthur finally rose and went to their small campfire. Merlin had spread their bedrolls in the small clearing created by the greedy roots of a thriving red alder. With exaggerated enthusiasm, Arthur acknowledged, “Bramble berries,” as he sat and propped his back against the tree trunk. He then grabbed a handful of berries from Merlin’s neckerchief resting in the low and matted vegetation. “Those trout look delicious, too,” he added, offering conversation.

“I hope you enjoy them,” he mumbled through a sad smile while wondering if he preferred Arthur’s normal gruffness to his faked and forced congeniality.

Arthur hated to hear him mumble. “Merlin,” he said in a tone that implied he listen. “I find no fault in you for telling Guinevere. If I were the better man, I would have told her, myself.”

Merlin gave a little ironic snort that Lancelot had used the same words. Contrary to Arthur’s claim, Merlin knew that he was not the better man. He felt certain that he told Gwen only to prevent Lancelot’s challenge. A detail that he chose not to burden Arthur with, he simply nodded in his silence. 

They remained quiet well after the harvest moon had risen. Its light reflected off the wide and rocky stream, giving the night a bluish hue that rivaled the misty blue of their moods. Arthur continued to sit propped against the tree while Merlin sat flat on his blanket and constantly fed the fire. 

They finally found the will to speak, again. Mainly, about Guinevere. With fond words, they recalled the happier times that they had shared. Other memories were not so happy. The death of her father, for one. Gwen facing a pyre. Twice. It was then that Arthur announced to Merlin some good news. “I believe it’s time that we let the cat out of the bag,” he said. “When we return to Camelot, I’ll change her witchcraft laws for you.”

Merlin swallowed hard with the moon reflecting mistier in his blue eyes. He yearned for the time when he did not have to lie or hide who he was but he had to say, “Arthur, you believe that Blodeuwedd is a myth.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin," he said. "Of course she’s a myth and rightly relegated to ancient peasant folklore. She could never have enchanted me and nor did you. When I first came to you in the caverns, I knew that it was your magic and your companionship and your love for me. All the things that embody you, Merlin. I'm in love with you, you idiot. I always have been. Only, I didn't know until you revealed to me the real you. I couldn't consciously claim to love you when I didn't truly know you, yet."

Merlin gave a single sniffle. The mist in his eyes reflected brighter and he wanted desperately for Arthur’s words to be true. Instead, he said, “But I told Gwen that you’re bewitched.”

Arthur looked at him in a moment of confusion and then he started banging his head backward, hitting it against the tree. “How can I be so stupid,” he admitted as he stopped and rubbed at his head while frowning. “Since I deny the existence of Blodeuwedd, I'd leave Guinevere with no choice but to blame your magic. I'd be virtually condemning you, myself, and she'll demand your head. She'll have it, too. The knights will support her accusation that you enchanted me to love you.” His frown deepened as he finally grasped the meaning of her question. "The same peasants to whom I give too much credit," she had asked him. Guinevere was of the peasantry. Not the noble class. The same people that he labeled simple and superstitious. In essence, he had called her ignorant. Another affront to her and still she offered him gain.

Arthur suddenly realized that he would be wise to accept her terms. On ideology she had won. He would let her rule as she saw fit but he would retain Camelot’s most important asset. Her army. His frown suddenly gave way to a little victory smile. Thanks to her, he had won, too. He still had Merlin.

Across the embers, Merlin watched his furrowing face relax into a little preposterous smile. “What,” he asked, with a confused frown now on his own.

“Guinevere,” he said her name in admiration. “She loves me far more than I deserve.” The bluish night now glowed like moonbeams in Arthur’s eyes. Readily accepting her terms, he moved from his prop against the tree and then started to crawl around the campfire to claim his victory.

"Arthur, what are you doing," he asked in a raspy whisper, too baffled to speak louder. Praises to Guinevere falling from his lips, Arthur came toward him to make love. Merlin started leaning away in his confusion. “But what about Gwen,” he uttered.

“She tossed me a bone for the privilege to rule Camelot.”

Merlin continued to lean while Arthur continued to come. When their lips were only a hairsbreadth apart, Merlin suddenly cried out, “Arthur! You traded her Camelot for me?”

“You were worth only the drudgery,” he joked again as he placed a hand behind Merlin’s neck and lowered his already leaning body down onto the blanket. Slowly straddling him, Arthur moved in for a kiss while opening their trousers. Needing air, he broke long enough to lower Merlin's breeches off his hips. “If she finds a sense of worth, then I’m happy to let her oversee our finances and fields.”

“But she was already doing those things whenever we traveled,” he pointed out in his efforts to grasp the mind boggling trade. Knowing Gwen and her love for Camelot, he suspected that she meant far more than finances and fields.

Arthur wedged his thighs underneath him, seeking entry. "And she'll still need my signature and royal seal, whatever she decides to do," he assured Merlin that he still held control of his kingdom.

In the moonlight, Merlin smiled up at him. “I see,” he said, but in a tone that implied that Arthur was gullible. “She’s reduced you to a paper king.”

“A paper king, huh,” he retaliated and with a wicked little thrust of his hips.

“Ow.”

 

 

Lancelot escorted the queen, again. No concern to the citizens of Camelot but a major concern to those closest to her. The king was gone hunting, again. No concern to the citizens of Camelot but a major concern to those closest to him. Guinevere carried another wicker basket in her arms. Camelot's subjects smiled that she went to pick the season's last flowers. Such a lovely queen to love flowers, they thought. During the spring and summer, they had often seen her in the distant fields with her escort standing and gazing vigilantly into the nearby woods.

But such a distance, no one could hear their words or know that the queen stooped over and cried, that day. Those who saw her simply assumed that she stooped to pick flowers.

Standing with his back to her, Lancelot could hear her cry. He also suspected why. "Guinevere," he spoke with his heart in knots to hear her despair. "Share this matter with me or force me to come hold you. Right here, in this field."

A threat that she knew he would keep, she reluctantly admitted, "Arthur. He seeks comfort, elsewhere."

Lancelot cast his eyes to the sky in silent gratitude to Merlin. No need, now, to challenge Arthur and he pleaded, "Then, come away with me. You owe it to yourself to be happy. I will give my life to make it so. Please. We will leave while he is away."

"Lancelot, I can't."

He felt his sliver of hope breaking apart. "But why must you stay," he demanded to know.

Guinevere steeled her voice with conviction. "Camelot is more than my duty. It is my home. I intend to make it the best home that I know how."

"And Arthur," he demanded again, aware of the homosexual details that she would not bring herself to admit. "How can you stay with him, after the infidelity that you confess?"

Guinevere refused to explain. In her heart, she knew that Merlin had not lied although he blamed a spirit and also took blame. Nor was Arthur the wisest man she had honor to know but Arthur was noble. Too noble to be unfaithful to her. Something had happened to Arthur and Merlin. Something very strange. She was determined to find the answer. To Lancelot, she simply said, "Thank you. I'm certain that I now know, because of you. I also know that you love me and I will always love you for that. But for better or worse, Arthur is my husband. And, my king. For the love of Camelot, I stay."

Lancelot stood staring into the woods, heart broken.

**

**

**

Arthur sighed that Merlin was right. He was a paper king and more accurate, he thought, a paper puppet king. Other than court council, he ruled Camelot for only a few fleeting moments a couple of mornings each week. 

On one such morning and fleeting moment, he sat at his desk while reading Guinevere’s parchments. Several required his signature and several others needed his royal seal for dispatch to the various kingdoms.

At least Guinevere seemed happy, he justified. Or maybe she was mimicking the dozens of actors who now performed in Camelot each week. He had to admit, she was right when she insisted that he commission the first acting company that passed through. She was right again to charge so minimal a fee to watch the actors perform. Because of those small fees, the city now bustled. Business owners were making money, the performers were making money and Camelot was fast becoming the cultural capital of the five kingdoms.

A quality of entertainment once reserved for the few nobles, the peasantry now flocked in droves and packed the houses. Actors, playwrights, musicians, composers and poets now considered Camelot the place to be. Particularly, the great throne room, where all the artists vied to perform.

Arthur recalled how he first objected. Entertainment compromised the solemnity of the great hall, he said. His objection grew louder when Guinevere asked to remove their sovereign chairs to give the performers a stage. But in the end, he conceded. After all, it was a part of their deal.

“Good morning, Arthur,” she greeted, as she exited from servant’s curtains that now hung in the hearth part of their chambers. Always thinking ahead, she had Gaius install the cot and curtains for her courtier during her sedative period. A female infection, she told her courtier, and the reason that she had insisted the king go hunting, again. In truth, Guinevere had the cot installed for herself. Dressed and ready for a new day, she cheerfully crossed the room and planted her usual peck to his temple. Smiling, she then said, “Merlin,” greeting him, too.

Merlin stood at the table while unloading their breakfast tray. His eyes followed her cheerful movement as he reciprocated, “Gwen,” with discomfort lacing his voice.

She understood his discomfort but it was another sacrifice that circumstance was forcing them to make. Shocking to Merlin, or maybe it was destiny he often wondered, but she had insisted that Arthur keep him as his manservant. Like the illusion that Arthur once perpetrated, she knew that she now perpetrated her own, for all must appear normal in Camelot. However, her illusion disguised her plea for time. She needed time to learn what had happened to them when they went missing in the Spring. And time, to break the spell that now sexually bound them together.

"Guinevere." Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose to one of her parchments. “Did you convince Geoffrey of this," he asked. "The library is his first home. I’m surprised that he hasn’t come to me complaining in efforts to fight you, tooth and nail.”

She sat at the breakfast table. “He was actually thrilled,” she beamed. “What you read are mostly his suggestions.” She smiled up at Merlin but watched him fidget to set her plate and then hurry away to make Arthur’s bed. In acting or in honesty, she spoke gaily to him. “No need to make mine, Merlin," she said. "I’ve already done so.”

With her shoulder flanked to Arthur seated at his desk, she continued. “Geoffrey expressed to me his loneliness, day after day. He asked, what good is a lifetime of knowledge or shelves of dusty books, if not to be shared. I suggested three assistants to teach the common children to read, three mornings a week. He requested five assistants and five mornings, to teach many of our adults, as well. He’s already solicited volunteers and they wait, ready to move shelves, dust books and make space for three such rooms.”

Arthur shook his head in amazement. “Good for Geoffrey,” he said and signed his name to approve Camelot’s first public school. He then read another parchment. “And Gaius’ sessions,” he asked.

Again, she beamed. “Gaius and I are convinced that properly trained and legally recognized midwives will cut Camelot’s infant mortality rate by half. Especially, in the countryside.”

“Good,” he nodded and signed his name, again. The next parchment, however, made Arthur raise his voice. “Guinevere,” he almost shouted. “What of this dispatch to Mithian, requesting five talents of silver?”

With a sternness of her own, she explained, “A reasonable price to outfit her new guard. If you recall, Mithian’s other lacked proper armor and fell easily to slaughter by Lot and Morgana.”

Arthur stood, getting louder. “But Mithian is our ally!”

Guinevere once placated but no longer. She gazed over her shoulder and with contradiction lowering her octave, she asked, “thus, Camelot’s responsibility to outfit her guard?”

“Of course not! Mithian would be offended. But five talents, Guinevere,” he demanded, again. “That’s the weight of five grown men. Absolute robbery!”

“Arthur,” she said, in a surprisingly low and forceful voice. “You, of all people, know that armor must be properly fitted, which means meticulously measured before crafted. Camelot’s artisans must relocate their shops to Nemeth to accomplish this task. Not to mention, procure and haul our alloys, needed. I’m sure that you’ve not forgotten that I am the daughter of a blacksmith. I am well aware of the price and work required to supply properly fitted armor. Five talents is more than fair.”

Both suddenly flinched and looked toward the hearth. Merlin had finished the bed and now dropped Arthur’s gauntlets and chain mail in route to the window where Arthur was often dressed into them. "Sorry," he said, glancing around at them but quickly added, “Arthur, you mentioned that you wanted to train, today.”

Arthur and Guinevere exhaled. Merlin’s clumsiness was no accident. All three knew that. Arthur stood gazing at the two of them, looking at their backs. What madness had he created, he wondered as he flopped back down into his chair. “You’re right, Merlin,” he agreed. “Let me finish signing these and I’ll meet you in the armory.”

Merlin hesitated while slowly gathering up his mess. He feared their bickering would resume. Guinevere forced a smile as she said, "It's alright, Merlin." She implied that their argument was over and that it was alright for him to leave.

Merlin deposited his mess back in the corner and left, empty handed. Arthur had more armor in the armory.

As he left, Guinevere’s smile faded. Her illusion of a normal Camelot was getting harder to perpetrate. She knew that winter was upon them. Disguised library visits or midwife talks had garnered her little information about Blodeuwedd. Only the legend, which said that her spirit resided in the caverns of Caerleon but nothing that would explain what happened to Arthur and Merlin there. In fact, Gaius was particularly reluctant to discuss the matter.

With her flank to Arthur, she ate her breakfast. As she ate, she took some consolation in knowing that she had uncovered Queen Annis’ strange request. Arthur had gone to Annis for money. But what had happened to it, she often wondered. Maybe Arthur would tell her when she placed the parchment on his desk to outfit Annis’ entire army. A task worth three talents of gold but waive the cost.

 

 

Lancelot,” Gwaine called and then trotted down the corridor to walk at his side. “Just thought that I’d join you,” he offered and with a wily smile, convinced that the picnic basket Lancelot carried was once again for Guinevere.

In his usually mild and calm demeanor, Lancelot asked, “Afraid there might be gossip?”

His blasé question stunned Gwaine. Stubborn and determined, he answered, “My friend, your fate is of little consequence to me but I’ll not see you jeopardize my queen’s good name. If not for her, we’d both be hired mercenaries and seeking means to drink from the likes of Morgana.”

With double meaning, Lancelot offered, “If you wish to join us, please. I have nothing to hide.” That much was true. Unlike the old cabin, the sights he saw and the noised he heard had lasted for three solid days. Lancelot remained brokenhearted but he still clung to hope. He reasoned that Guinevere was a young and vivacious woman but he doubted that she still shared Arthur’s bed. More convincing to him, Arthur and Merlin continued to go on their unaccompanied hunting trips. Lancelot was far too gallant to proposition her but if she ever had need, she had only to ask.

Gwaine stopped walking, which caused Lancelot to look around at him. With another wily smile and a tilt of his head, Gwaine said, “Ensure that she takes a warm cloak. The weather is quite nippy, today.” Still smiling, he watched Lancelot disappear around the corner.

 

Guinevere spread her blanket and sat with Lancelot standing appropriately on guard. To his back, she asked, “Lancelot, what do you know of a spirit called Blodeuwedd?”

He thought a moment before he said, “I’ve heard the name mentioned. During my travels in the northern kingdoms. I believe that she is somehow connected to the celebration of spring and the new planting season. But I’m afraid that I know little else. Why,” he asked her.

“Do you believe that such a spirit exist,” she casually spoke. She knew that Arthur did not believe in Blodeuwedd.

Lancelot gazed with a distant longing toward the trees. He wanted to swoop her up and disappear into them. “I’ve witnessed many a strange thing in these lands," he said. "A man of my limited knowledge, I’d be wise to neither deny nor confirm her existence. I simply do not know.”

Guinevere heard the distant longing in his voice. She hoped that he was not ready to leave Camelot. Not now. Not with winter upon them and her greatest challenge lay just ahead. If he must leave her, she hoped that he would stay at least until spring.

Maybe in the spring, she would find out what happened to Arthur and Merlin. She knew that spring was far more than a coincidence. Merlin had always left each spring. Blodeuwedd was the goddess of spring. Arthur and Merlin went missing in the spring. With the trials and tribulations that she must face in winter, she felt convinced that she must survive until spring. But only with Lancelot’s help.

Lancelot suddenly grabbed the hilt of his sword. Equally as sudden, he stifled a frown. Gwaine, Elyan and Leon came through the trees, smiling, while Percival showed signs of strain to carry a hefty wooden crate.

With smile and cheer, they quickly expanded her little picnic. Lancelot abandoned protocol and joined them on the blankets. He sat first and then he looked up at Gwaine, who wily smiled again as he prepared to sit, too. Lancelot gave him a challenging glare along with a forceful snap of his head, pointing it toward the trees.

Gwaine’s smile almost collapsed as he said, “Of course. Gladly.” He then stood tall, implying that it was his honor to stand lookout for his queen. With exaggerated vigilance, he took Lancelot’s old position with his back to them while gazing into the forest.

A servant by habit, Guinevere sat on her haunches and struggled against Percival to unpack their crate. Roasted chicken, cheese, bread, apples and wine mostly sweet-talked but a few bits swiped from the kitchens, she quickly fixed a plate and sent Percival off to Gwaine to get his large and clumsy hands out of her way.

While Guinevere fixed and passed out plates, Elyan reclined on an elbow beside her and often looked up into her face. It seemed so troubled to him. All had noticed her troubled appearance. Arthur and Merlin seemed troubled to them, too.

Elyan finally started what all had been wondering for quite some time. He hoped that Guinevere would share the king's mental state. Arthur wouldn't and he said, “It’s good to see Arthur enjoying his hunts, again."

When her response was slow to come, Leon sought to egg her on. “Merlin, too, after their long captivity.”

Guinevere glanced at Lancelot. She then took a napkin and wiped tears forming in her eyes. Real tears, she had reason to cry. The snows were coming. Still buying herself time until spring, she prefaced, “I know that you all worry about them. I worry about them, too. I can only surmise the horrors of their long captivity, since neither will confide in me.”

She then shocked them all, including Lancelot when she said, teary eyed, “Until they are ready to speak of the odious lust of this strange woman, or the claws of passion that she left on Arthur’s body or the other evil things that she may have done to them, I think it wiser that we not press either on their ordeal. Right now, they seek solace in each other’s presence and I am, at least, grateful for that.”

A ragtag group of shocked, distressed and contorted faces quickly nodded, agreeing with her. Guinevere reasoned that sexual abuse against women was difficult enough to talk about but sexual abuse against big strong men, and their king, at that, she knew the ragtags' lips were sealed.

Lancelot could only stare at her, and with his mouth ajar.

 

 

The weather was cold. Merlin was cold. Arthur watched him enter the royal chambers with arms of wood to rebuild the fire. He could literally hear his chattering teeth, again. Behind the curtains, Guinevere made her servant's cot. A while ago, she had anticipated the chatter. Arthur once wondered if the weather physically changed Merlin, somehow. Now, he was sure. He once sent Merlin out each night in the cold dead of winter to check the tavern. Now, he wanted to hold Merlin close and keep him warm. A while ago, Guinevere had anticipated that he wanted to hold Merlin close and keep him warm.

No hunting trip could remedy this need, Arthur realized as he sat at his desk, being his usual puppet king. A while ago, Guinevere had realized that no hunting trip would remedy the need. Once the fire started to blaze, Merlin lingered, stooped and shivering and trying to get a bit warmer.

Arthur’s heart ached for him. But how could he heap an equal heartache upon Guinevere, he stressed. Day in and day out, she worked long and hard for the people of Camelot. She had given them financial security again, more prosperous businesses, a school, entertainment and better health care. If he abandoned their royal chambers for the sake of warming his manservant, the disgrace would nearly kill her. Arthur settled back in his chair and stared at Merlin's shivering body. A single tear welled in his eye and traversed his cheek as he rapped his fingers on the parchments, lost for what to do.

Guinevere finished making her bed. Dressed and ready to face Arthur’s objections to any of her parchments, she exited the curtains. The piteous sight she saw as she exited convinced her. Tears begin to form in her eyes, as well. She knew that her most challenging sacrifice had finally arrived. However, it was a sacrifice that she had anticipated, had braced herself for and had already laid the groundwork to quell any rumors that may arise.

Arthur glanced at her approach. “Guinevere,” he said, and with a quick rub of his face in efforts to regroup. “I have a question on,” he stopped and looked closely into her face as she opened a decorative box on his desk and took out a key. He saw her glistening tears and then he watched her go to the servants’ entrance and lock the door.

As she placed the key on the desk beside him, she cautioned him. “Ensure that you always keep the doors locked and that you will always be careful. Do not bring disgrace upon what is mine,” she said and then she went back behind the curtains.

After a moment, Arthur could hear her cry.

Merlin had turned from the fire. Stunned by her words, he wrapped his arms around his shivering body but he now shivered from more than the cold. Standing and hugging himself, he sought comfort. In his weakness, he could not deny Arthur and now he was forcing Gwen to watch. What pride had he left her or honor had he left Arthur, he wondered as he stood holding himself and staring the length of the chambers.

Arthur continued to gaze down at the key on his desk. He sensed that Merlin watched him and he raised his head. With their eyes locked in wordless response, each waited for the other to speak. The faint sounds of Guinevere’s cry pierced the silence. Arthur listened to her grieve but with somber gratitude. Obvious to him, she understood his dilemma and once again, she offered him gain. He then nodded at Merlin to accept her offer. It meant warmth for him on the cold winter nights.

As Merlin listened to her, too, he held himself tighter as his head started to sway. How could either suggest that he sleep with Arthur in her presence, his mind screamed. Such insanity, his voice could not find words to say. Convinced that he would sound too shrilled to be coherent, he managed to utter, “I’ll fetch breakfast.” An excuse to leave, he almost ran from the room.

Guinevere dried her eyes, composed herself and sat at the table. Her shoulder flanked to Arthur again, they discussed her parchments while she waited for breakfast. But waiting for breakfast was her charade. She waited for Merlin, instead. She had to quell the objections that she knew he had. And why wouldn’t he object, she was sure, since she objected to her own mad demand. Yet, until spring, she had to insist that Merlin sleep in Arthur’s bed. If not, Arthur would roam the castle all winter, both morning and night, coming and going to his little cot or to chambers elsewhere. That would be a disgrace that she could not bear. A disgrace to the lowly maidservant trying to be a queen but above that, a disgrace to her womanhood.

Arthur waited to quell Merlin’s objections, too. And for his own selfish reason. He could not bear to watch Merlin suffer the cold another winter, now that he understood fully the extend and why he suffered.

As he and Guinevere calmly conversed, they avoided discussion on the peculiar sleeping arrangement. In agreement, nothing else needed to be said. Obvious to them, Arthur had a weakness for Merlin. Born of witchcraft or by choice but in either case, he had virtually traded her Camelot for Merlin. An incredible price, both knew that a meager winter would not stop Arthur, now. On the contrary, winter served to fuel his fire.

Merlin returned with tray in hand after he had time to think. As he slowly sat breakfast on the table, he could not make his eyes focus on either of them. His guilt felt suffocating, like a weight crushing his chest. His own weakness had left them with little choice. He knew that Gwen feared disgrace because Arthur would surely roam to keep him warm. After he made the bed, he started leaving. again. Almost whispering, he said, “I’ll let Gaius know that I’ll be sleeping, here, this winter.”

 

The three didn’t see each other again until late night. Merlin took refuge in the armory. Shivering, shining, yawning and mending nearly everything there, he then sat in his room, shivering and still contemplating what to do. Gaius had no answers to offer. Only, some dinner. Seeing Merlin's sad and troubled face, Gaius knew that he already suffered enough and he refused to add more admonishment.

While Merlin hid out in the armory and mended everything there, Guinevere forced another smiling day as she implemented her king’s new policies, which were actually her own. Arthur sought escape in his army and in banging up his ragtags on the training field. All, except Lancelot. In stiff and steely demeanors, they steered clear of each other. As Lancelot engaged a few new recruits in training pursuits, he watched the other ragtags absorb Arthur's blows with sealed lips and sympathetic eyes. He often fought the urge to still throw down his gauntlet. Arthur fought the urge to accept his punishment like a man. He felt convinced that Lancelot knew of his infidelity with Guinevere. He also felt convinced that Lancelot still loved her, dearly.

When Guinevere returned to their chambers long after supper, Arthur was already in bed. Both unable to sleep, she sought escape in her parchments. She took a candelabra to the dining table and sat in a chair closest to the hearth. Still dressed in her deep blue cloak that she wore all day, she now draped the hood over her head. Occasionally, she rose and added more wood to the fire. After she finished another parchment, she placed it neatly on her mounting stack.

Guinevere worked to keep her thoughts from wandering. They often wandered, anyway. Mainly, about their marriage. A maidservant to the king of Camelot, it had been against all odds. It seemed that fate, itself, had tried to prevent their union and fate was now trying to keep them apart.

Guinevere finally heard what she had dreaded. A tap on the door. She then watched Merlin ease into the room with more firewood. Hunched and shivering in the cold quiet night, she thought that she literally heard his bones chatter. By spring, Guinevere expected to be little more than a ghost. A shadow of herself moving against the fire and candle light. At that moment, she feared that she had traded her soul for Camelot. Lowering her head back to her parchments, she offered him no greeting. 

Merlin first startled to find her still awake. He then deposited his pile and quickly returned to bolt the door. Grateful for the two tasks, they gave him excuse to avoid looking at her. With his own head lowered by blame and shame, he cleared ashes from the fireplace before he added more wood. 

Arthur lay huddled beneath his red bedspread and thick blankets while watching their strained and silent exchange. With Guinevere hooded and Merlin hunched, he thought they looked the apparition and deformity in a tragedy written for the actors vying to perform in the great throne room. His mind sought images of a warmer and happier time. The summer sun brightened his thoughts. He recalled Merlin’s body being so hot that he could barely stay inside him. And spring, with their loins joined in sensuous sway as their hands sparked lightning high into the sky. And fall, underneath the misty moonlight… his memories were quickly arousing him.

Merlin eased to the far side of the bed. He stopped, stunned, and he started to furrow as he gazed down into Arthur’s now eager face. The tapestries were still gathered around the bedposts and he wondered what to do. Surely Arthur did not plan to make love to him in the open with Gwen sitting across the room but the haste in Arthur’s eyes as they glowed by the firelight gave him serious doubt. Merlin untied a drape at the head of bed and used it as a shield to undress behind.

Shivering all the while, he finally decided what he must do. After he quickly stripped down to his small cloth, he peered around the drape to ensure that Gwen was not watching him. In one quick motion, he slid under the mounds of cover as he flashed gold his eyes at her and muttered a few words.

Before Merlin could settle in bed, Arthur yanked down his last stitch of clothing while already homing to cuddle. Suddenly, Arthur nearly shouted, “Damn it, Merlin! You feel like an icicle!”

Guinevere giggled. The same laugh that she often gave to their silliness. From the bed, both watched her stand from the table while yawning. "Good night," she said with a smile. In lighthearted steps, she disappeared behind the curtains.

Merlin knew that she would wonder what happened, come morning. The last she would remember was Arthur calling him an icicle. Merlin reasoned that he had robbed enough of her pride. At least she would not have to endure their passionate lovemaking, once or if Arthur finally warmed him up. He felt sure that come morning, Gwen would consider her lack of memory a gift from the gods.

Merlin used his magic to keep the fire stoked to a full blaze. In the cold quiet night the chambers glowed and crackled, nice and toasty. Pressed against Arthur under mounds of cover, the bed felt warm and cozy. But Merlin was born of the fabric of the earth. The outside heat did little to chase his inner chill. When the weather was cold, Merlin was cold. “I’m sorry,” he uttered over his shoulder each time he felt Arthur go limp.

Arthur refused to give up. Huddled behind Merlin, he thrust with a passion to stay hard. Both arms wrapped around Merlin, he pulled him tighter against his body. Struggling to keep his flaccid phallus between two frosty mounds, he constantly palmed and pulled on Merlin’s limp length while he constantly complained about his innate weather. "I don't like winter," Arthur often said. Tired and desperate in pursuit of summer, spring or fall, he grumbled, “I never thought that I’d become a nekros lover.”

“A what,” Merlin asked with another glance over his shoulder.

“Nekros. Dead. Corpse,” he snapped out in one-word phrases as he placed his chin over Merlin’s shoulder in efforts to warm his jugular.

“Arthur, I’m not dead,” he pouted, offended by the comparison. “I’m just cold.”

“Since you find nekros so offensive, does a piece of ice sound better to you,” he asked, sarcastic. “That’s what you feel like. I don’t like winter,” he constantly said.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin constantly apologized. He even tried flexing his hip muscles with hopes to keep Arthur hard. At the same time, his own flesh was getting tender from the constant palming and pulling. Finally, he suggested, “Arthur, maybe we should just try to get some sleep.”

Arthur hugged him tighter, instead. Still determined, he rubbed Merlin briskly about stomach and abdomen. But after several more failed attempts, he finally sighed, giving up. “I’m sure that Guinevere will be pleased,” he mumbled with an unconscionable guilt threatening to steal his voice. He glanced over at the servant’s curtains.

Public grace. That was all he had left her; all that she now asked of him. He never considered himself the type of man who would abandon his vows; abandon his marriage. But since the Caverns of Caerleon he had known that nothing else would ever compare to Merlin. Not his kingship, his kingdom or even his wife. He felt grateful to her and Merlin, too, for still accepting him despite his weakness. Both obviously loved him a great deal.

He loved them, too. But for different reasons, now. He loved Guinevere for her incredible strength, wisdom and understanding. He loved Merlin for the simple awe of him. A malfeasant threesome they had become, he took blame for that. “Merlin,” he asked, in a quiet remorse. “Are you certain that she won’t suffer any side effects from your spell?”

An equally quiet guilt in his tone, he assured Arthur. “I’m positive," he said. "She’ll know only a deep and peaceful sleep. Much like having too much wine. But since she didn’t consume any, she’ll have no hangover. She’ll be just fine, tomorrow.” He then pressed tighter into the curve of Arthur’s body seeking his heat and he closed his eyes.

“Good,” Arthur whispered, relieved for her even as he shifted behind Merlin, settling with efforts to keep him a bit warmer.

 

In the cold winter dawning, Guinevere rose before most in the castle, as usual. To find her in the kitchens and heating a cauldron of water was still a common sight, although she was now Queen of Camelot. Five servants entered to prep the daily meals. A man and four women. Wrapped in thick cloaks and scarves against the cold weather, the women carried their first buckets of freezing water and the man wheeled in a barrel of wood to fuel the large stoves.

The servants were happy that a fire already blazed, heating the cold kitchens. They readily greeted, “Good morning, my lady… another nippy day… I fear it might snow…”

One of the old familiar faces asked Guinevere, “Did you sleep well?”

She smiled in earnest as she answered, “Never better.” Dress in her blue hooded cloak against the cold, she fixed a tray of bread, cheese and meats while she waited for the water to boil.

Not since the Lady Morgana was King Uther’s loving ward had the servants sensed such ease in her demeanor. They smiled for her, taking pride in the lovely young maidservant who became their queen. A commoner like themselves, they were convinced that she petitioned the king for the new benefits that they now enjoyed.

Eager to share the changes in their lives, they spoke over each other. “…My Claddy is a born scholar, Geoffrey says… My Karelia’s penmanship is fit for a scribe… After three miscarriages, my sister’s new baby boy is healthy as a horse… Now that my husband can figure proper, he makes more profit from his wares. He even bought us front row seats to this week’s play… I bought a new dress… I bought new shoes…”

Guinevere smiled to hear their excitement. The water finally boiling, she dippered a small pail. Leaving with her tray balanced in one hand a her small bucket in the other, she added, “I hope to see you all there.”

“Good day, my lady,” they happily bid her farewell. “May the gods continue to bless you…”

Near the door, she overheard the women confessing to envy her courtier, who had only to fetch her noon meal and wash her clothes. Such a humble queen they bragged.

With renewed strength, Guinevere walked the corridor. Peaceful sleep and morning praise, the gods were offering her mercy. Perhaps, a ghost moving like a shadow in the night was not her fate. Once she reached their chambers, she relocked the servant’s door. She then stood and stared at the two heads sunk deep in the pillows. Like two sides of a coin joined at the temple, their gold and black mops were sleep-tousled together. Mouths open in gentle snore, one inhaled as the other exhaled. Between the two, they created a rhythmic song, as if somehow they belonged together. Perhaps, more so than she and Arthur.

As she watched them, a sadness engulfed her. Sadness, brought on by doubt. Spring may not offer the answers she hoped but may only confirm what now existed. Still, she had to know. Her love for Arthur demanded it. With sadness and doubt now in her heart, she turned from them while waiting for spring.

 

 

 

Winter was almost over. Arthur was grateful. He did not like winter. Not at all. He told Merlin so, almost every night. Constantly grumbling about his cold body, he much preferred spring, summer or fall. What really got his goat was having Merlin snug in his bed each night and with his own wife’s permission but he had yet to make love to him. Not once. All winter. He could no longer bear to let Merlin freeze, all alone, but he could barely wait until spring.

A while ago, Merlin had stopped casting his spell on Guinevere. Only cuddling to get a bit warmer, he dreaded Arthur’s constant complaints. A corpse or an icicle felt bad enough but when Arthur started comparing him to an old frigid woman, it really hurt his feelings. But too cold to offer any meaningful retorts, he simply apologized and tried to sleep. As he drifted, he often pleaded for his kindred spirit to come quickly. Spring did not hurt his feelings as badly as Arthur. Only, his body.


	13. Wickedcrest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Another inexplicably "no," sexual scene but again, a part of the plot...

Northumbia for peace negotiations. Safer for a king to travel incognito, Arthur told his court. If the weather didn’t permit such a distance, he would enjoy a long and leisurely hunt. Either way, don’t come searching for him for at least a month. If need arose, he told Guinevere that she would know where to find him. Afterall, she now ruled Camelot and with a very capable General of the Army at her side. Short of an attack by Morgana, which all reports indicated that she still lacked the strength in numbers, he felt confident that his kingdom was in good hands.

Two days later, Arthur stood high on the ridge atop Caerleon’s Caves and gazed about the endless sky. Arms spread wide in the warm enchanted breeze, he communed naked with nature and ready to soar once more. The winter had been a long and cold disappointment. Behind him, Merlin sat basking on the season’s young and tender grass while chasing the last of his winter chill. Naked, too, he admired Arthur, standing golden in the sunlight. Merlin felt happy to see him content again after being a big pissant, all winter.

“Merlin, I was wondering,” Arthur spoke, with eyes closed against the brilliant sun riding high in the southwestern sky. The storms usually came from that direction. “Why wait for your deranged woman to come seduce you,” he suggested.

Merlin felt a mass of blood rush below his waist fast enough to leave him lightheaded. “You mean, try to preclude her,” he asked, pretending to give the matter considerable thought. Embarrassed by the fist that it would entail, he tried to cover his eagerness by drawing in his legs and wrapping his arms around his knees before he finally replied, “It’s worth a try.”

Arthur smiled into the sun to hear his pretense. Teasingly he turned toward Merlin and brandished his own arousal with no pretense, whatsoever. The sun shining brightly on Merlin’s face, Arthur could see his every eager eyelash flutter, his every morsel of moisture escape his mouth onto his lips. In his teasing, Arthur gave doubt to his own suggestion. “Are you sure it’s worth a try,” he asked, while frowning and scratching at his temple.

Merlin stammered, “Um, um,” while looking about the tender grass until his periphery caught sight of Arthur. A large grin on his face, Merlin felt hoodwinked. He shouted, “you onion head!” Barreling to his feet, he rushed to attack. With his mouth and arms and his own arousal.

Scuffing, with feet entwined and rubbing their arousals together seeking friction, they lost balance and tumbled to the ground. High atop the cliff and surrounded by a spectacular view, they made passionate love, eager to erase the memories of the long cold winter.

 

 

Her little silver goblets were reserved for special occasions. So was warm mint cider. Hunith felt honored to serve the queen of Camelot with the best she had. She felt more honored to share her best with a dear friend. But the occasion made her hands tremble. Hunith spilled a bit of her precious mint as she poured the warm liquid from the pan into the small goblets.

Guinevere shifted nervously at the table. Once a maidservant, she wanted to help but she doubted that her own nervous hands could do a better job. She tried to continue their conversation. “Queen Lot was very gracious,” she said, but in a voice fraught with falter.

The falter made Hunith spill more cider. She went to her window table to get a dishcloth. Both fought tears and Hunith could not face her friend’s sorrow, just yet. She allowed them time to control their emotions as she stood a moment, gazing into the skeletons that now passed as trees. 

But Hunith knew that the violent storms of spring would soon begin. She surmised that Arthur went with Merlin again and the reason that Guinevere cried. She finally retrieved the dishcloth and sat opposite her at the table. Nervously wiping the small spills, she avoided the subject, too, as she said, “Our new queen came to Ealdor and asked of our welfare. Something her husband never did.”

Guinevere replied in a flurry of words, rushing past her quiver. “She welcomed my trade delegation with open arms but I’m sure that she allied with Arthur in light of Morgana’s mounting forces. Reports say that her Saxon army is strengthening. I pray that she’ll never amass a power to equal our united kingdoms.”

Hunith quickly aided her struggling efforts. “That would be a great battle, indeed,” she said, now swaying her head to imagine the hundreds if not thousands dead.

"I'm so proud of Arthur's peace efforts," Guinevere added, trying to erase the grisly image. Encouraged by their steadying voices, she nibbled at the reason she had come. “Did Arthur and Merlin stop to see you last summer, after his negotiations with Queen Lot,” she asked, maneuvering them into the conversation.

“Briefly,” Hunith said, but she had already concluded that Merlin and Arthur prompted her visit. “Like your delegation, Arthur’s stayed long enough to water and rest their horses.” Hunith then braved to nibble, too. “All of the kingdoms should be proud of Arthur. In light of his peace travels, will Merlin be coming home this spring or should I expect the splendid young man, Wilsyth, to return and plow my field?”

Guinevere knew that her answer would speak volumes. Her voice faltered again as she promised, “I’ll ensure that Wilsyth returns.” She then went silent. As she sat gazing at her reflection rippling in the little silver goblet, a fallen tear made her image unrecognizable. She closed her eyes with efforts to contain an open cry but when she raised her head again, her breath caught.

Hunith was crying for her. A hand covering her mouth, her shoulders and bosom shook. Guinevere put aside her distorted image and reached across the table. She forced Hunith’s hand from her face and entwined their fingers.

Holding hands upon the table, both women openly sobbed. Once Hunith spoke again, she offered solace to her friend. The least she could do and she started to explain. “Last spring, when Wilsyth came instead of Merlin, I wrote to Gaius and asked of his welfare,” she stopped to compose her voice. “Gaius replied that Arthur had spent the storms of spring with him. It relieved me to read that Merlin finally found comfort but I grew distressed to read that he found it in Arthur. I'm so sorry for you.” 

As Hunith apologized, Guinevere became more nervous. Apparent to her, Hunith assumed that she knew all the details of their intimacy. Guinevere realized that she was close to learning the truth but she must tread carefully. Speaking as if she did know all of the details except one, she asked, “Hunith, how is Blodeuwedd involved?”

A melancholy suddenly overtook Hunith that deepened her red and tear-swollen eyes. “Blodeuwedd,“ she repeated, as if speaking of a lifetime ago and of a sad old acquaintance. “I never expected to hear her name, again…”

Guinevere tried to contain herself as she sat listening to Hunith’s sorrow.

“…My Merlin was born during the raging storms of spring,” she recalled her distant memories as though they happened only yesterday. “It was such a long and painful birth. Three midwives came to tend me. All three said, a breech and that my baby had not survived. As I lay bleeding and crying for my child, we heard a voice speak to us in this very room. A young woman’s voice. She said, no need for tears, my dear, for I have arrived. The old midwife still holding Merlin gasped out, Blodeuwedd, when suddenly Merlin gave forth the most powerful of cries, as if he were the raging storm, itself…”

Guinevere struggled to comprehend. Hunith was saying that Merlin was magic but was Hunith also saying that, “Merlin is Blodeuwedd,” she uttered.

In her melancholy, Hunith replied, “a kindred soul, reborn of her spirit.” She remembered the fear and fascination on the midwives’ faces as they listened to a stillborn cry with the power of a storm. She remembered their vows to Blodeuwedd that the bounty hunters would never have her child. She also remembered the old midwife giving homage to the goddess of spring. Hunith repeated her words, “With thunder and lightning, earth creates her new life, in the ultimate intercourse.”

A knock on the door startled Hunith. Sir Gwaine peered inside and reported that the horses were watered and rested. Guinevere never heard. She sat consumed by the knowledge that she had finally uncovered. It was now clear to her why Merlin blamed a spirit and also took blame. Blodeuwedd was the spirit and Merlin, the ravening flesh with his claws of passion. Together, both had bewitched Arthur.

When Guinevere finally stood, she looked down at Hunith with regretful eyes. Gravely saddened for her, she found only the courage to utter, "thank you."

 

 

Merlin often gazed about the southwestern horizon while looking for Spring's wanton arrival. Three days and not a cloud in sight. Arthur noticed his constant gazes. With a fishing spear resting across his shoulder, he and Merlin frolicked in route to the nearby lake. Finally, Arthur asked, “I thought you said that your mistress had come? Well, where is she?”

“She can be quite fickle, at times,” he answered, and with a glance down at Arthur’s sandals. “Much like an un-kingly king.”

Arthur was nude except for his feet. He started to cuff Merlin on the head but his arm stayed in the air. Merlin flinched, waiting for a hit that never came. He looked at Arthur and then looked where Arthur looked. Merlin suddenly went pale. “I said that she's fickle,” he uttered. “She comes from the east northeast, this time.”

Just above the horizon and visible through the trees, the sky was black as coal. A dark sliver when they first saw it, the sliver expanded at an incredible rate. The intended cuff on the head turned into a soothing hand down Merlin’s back. Arthur found himself getting angry that she came so violently and without the courtesy of forewarning them with overcast skies. Determination in his voice as he turned and started walking back toward the rocks that marked the caverns' entrance, he said, “Let’s go preempt your fickle bitch!”

 

 

“But my lady,” Lancelot objected, vehemently. He came to his feet with both fists pounding the strategy table. “I fear that you make a grave mistake! Please! Do not do this,” he begged her.

Gwaine objected, too, but he remained settled back in his chair at the table and with a preposterous expression that resembled a cynical grin. “Merlin is no sorcerer,” he said in a tone of almost indignant absurdity. “Even if he is, he’d never harm Arthur. Quite the contrary, I’d say that he's in love with the princess.”

Guinevere glanced at him from Uther’s old seat. Noticeably worn, her face showed the stress of her undertaking. To Gwaine’s cynical indignation, she added, “And the reason that he bewitched Arthur.”

Gwaine sat up. His expression quickly turned from cynicism to wide-mouth astonishment that widened more when he saw Lancelot close his eyes and drop his head. Lancelot sighed as he sat again.

Gwaine continued to stare at him. All the ragtags did. Apparently, it was true. Merlin was bedding Arthur and Lancelot knew.

Guinevere dismissed Gwaine’s opened mouth and Lancelot’s closed eyes. She turned her attention to the more constructive objections coming from her General of the Army. Sir Leon appreciated the gravity of the situation. “My lady, what proof have you of these accusations,” he insisted.

“The proof is occurring in Caerleon’s Caves, even as we speak.”

Elyan furrowed at his sister. “Then, you knew all along that this deranged woman was a lie,” he reasoned. “And Northumbia, too. But it makes no sense. Why go so far and for so long, if they already have their nearby hunting trips?”

Guinevere continued to seek the services of her friends and without forceful order. “Elyan, those answers lie in the Caves of Caerleon. And the reason that we must go there.”

Lancelot continued to object. “And if we should discover that he is indeed a sorcerer,” he asked, questioning her intent.

Guinevere gave a sad sigh. “Then Merlin has betrayed us, all," she said. "He has lied to us, all this time.” She never thought that she would share the insanity of Uther Pendragon. Instead, she tried to justify her decision. “We all know and love Merlin and I will guarantee him a fair and impartial trial. But bewitching a king is high treason,” she stopped, refusing to speak the rest but all knew that her tone implied his death.

Gwaine continued to sit with his mouth ajar.

Lancelot closed his eyes, again.

Percival felt too stunned to offer opinion. He sat with a blank stare at his queen.

Elyan swayed his head, still struggling to comprehend her secrecy from him, for nearly a year.

Leon, however, started to nod in agreement. “Merlin is a dear friend," he said. "But as knights of Camelot, we are sworn to protect her king and uphold her laws. We are left with no choice. We must go and seek the truth, whatever it may be.”

Guinevere felt grateful to her General of the Army for his support. In a command tone just short of an order, she said, “Then, we leave at first light.” 

 

 

In the fifth and last chamber of Caerleon's caverns, Merlin and Arthur took refuge. Except for a few angles of evening gloaming, the smaller area set shroud in moonlight dim. Merlin lit several candles. Smoke from a larger fire would become too thick. Grouse roasting in the third chamber, Arthur warmed a small pail of oil near the fire.

The hot air in the small fifth chamber quickly filled with Merlin’s strong sexual scent. Both hoped that their strategy would work but strategy now ran a distant second. Desire left them breathing hard and heavy. After combining their bedrolls, they lowered themselves to their knees. Merlin leaned forward, braced both hands against a column and willingly offered himself to their endeavor. His mounting need, Arthur’s love and his own for Arthur started to relax him.

Seeking total relaxation, Arthur kneaded his back as he began with long, slow and deep penetrations. Their motions soon became rapid and erratic. Merlin met each forward thrust with a powerful lunge of his own. He could not get enough. Flesh pounding amid guttural groans, the first phase of their endeavor did not last very long. As expected, the desire in Merlin's body quickly rose, again.

Arthur moved back, sat on his haunches and took position. The small pail at his side, he submerged his hand. Warm oil dripping from his fingertips, he caught the excess and with both hands, he reached for Merlin's backside. Rubbing his hand the length of his crevice, he then massaged the rest into his cheeks, sac and upper thighs. While Arthur massaged him, the desire building in Merlin made him gyrate, searching and desperate to guide a massaging hand, any hand or even both hands inside him.

Arthur started to oblige him. Each digit, Merlin received with little discomfort when suddenly he felt an enormous pressure. Knuckles, seeking entry. The sensation made him raise up and arch his spine. He closed his eyes, balanced his shoulders against Arthur’s chest and turned his face in an overwhelming need for his lips. The first flex made Merlin moan in his ecstasy. With Arthur’s tongue grazing every corner of his mouth, he rode what seemed wide ripples on an ocean of pleasure. He floated atop the undulating waves, one after another, until he felt the waves condense and shorten in intervals until they left him literally jerking in his ride. His body mount for release when suddenly he errupted as he cried out Arthur's name. In his powerful jerks, he completely saturated the wall a full meter in front of them. Exhausted to near unconsciousness, Merlin collapsed onto his forearms.

Arthur relaxed his hand and carefully withdrew it. He then straightened Merlin upon their bedrolls and covered his naked midsection with a light tunic in the sultry heat. Within seconds, Merlin started to snore.

Arthur watched him sleep. He sat beside him and gently rubbed his temple. He then heard the first thunder and saw the small angles and shades dance upon the many walls. He hoped their endeavor had worked and that Merlin would not have to endure one moment of her wonton cruelty.

Hours later, Spring still raged, hard and violent. This time, however, Merlin stood in a chiseled doorway and marveled at the massive power. Her majesty mesmerized him as she crackled and boomed and lit up the sky. To Arthur, standing against his back while gently rolling inside him, again, he uttered of her glory, “A part of me that I need no longer fear. Thank you.”

 

Queen Guinevere and her band of ragtags prepared to leave for the Caverns of Caerleon at first light. A stormy night, she laid out her old riding breeches, her beige sleeveless shawl and several other items upon the dinner table. Like Arthur, they would travel incognito with so few in her entourage. Her normal party included a battalion with several wagons and a royal tent but this journey would be clandestine and swift. As she packed a single haversack, she heard a tap at the servants’ entrance. 

Guinevere assumed who knocked before she asked through the locked door. “Lancelot?”

“My lady,” he answered, low enough that the guards in the outside corridor could not hear but stern enough to imply that it was no social call to discuss the weather.

She surmised as much as she opened the door. With barely a glance at him, she returned to the dining table to finish her packing.

Lancelot begged again as he walked behind her. “Please, Guinevere. Do not do this.”

She replied, determined but calm. “I understand that Merlin is your friend,” 

“This is not about Merlin,” he interrupted. “This is about Arthur. Please, come away with me.”

“Lancelot, I’ve already given you my answer,”

“But Gwen, Arthur has made his choice,” he insisted, hovering over her back. “Why must you continue to chase after him,” he pleaded to know. Alone in the candlelit chambers on a dark stormy night, he felt desperate to have her love. In his desperation, he showed that even the most gallant of men could become crass when pushed beyond reason. “Wasn’t this winter heartache enough for you." he demanded. "Or, do you receive some type of warped pleasure to watch your husband fuck another man!”

Guinevere tensed. Lancelot had gone too far. Had said too much. She turned slowly to face him. Infuriated, she admitted, “my ‘warped pleasure’ will come from Merlin’s death! He stole Arthur from me!” 

“But killing him will not get you Arthur back! It will drive him further away!”

“In that case,” she countered, “you should relish Merlin’s death!”

“Gwen, this is madness,” he pleaded now for her sanity. He blamed Arthur for that. He had left her cold, lonely and bitter. Unable to watch her suffer any longer, he grabbed her in a tight embrace.

Guinevere struggled but Lancelot tightened his hold. As she twisted and turned in his arms, he followed her every move until he managed to press his lips to her mouth. The only defense she could think, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth. She started to clamp down but suddenly, she couldn’t. She could not bear the thought of injuring his sweet suppleness as he pleaded for her love. Instead, she closed her eyes and let herself relax. Lancelot continued, kissing her with a fieriness born from years of denial.

Denied intimacy like Lancelot, Guinevere reciprocated, kissing him with an equally fiery passion. As they finally broke, he gazed into her face with his eyes filled with his vulnerability. His very soul now rested in her hands.

She met his gaze for several moments. “I'll come,” she started but suddenly stopped. Forcing herself from his embrace, she said, “We leave for the Caverns, at first light.”

Lancelot dropped his head. He felt that he left his soul behind as he turned and walked away.

 

Overcast skies, Guinevere and her band slowly paced their horses on the muddy road. During stormy downpours, they took refuge beneath a piece of tarp from her convoy tent. Gwaine and Elyan constantly bickered and Leon often joined them to keep the bickering alive. No one complained about the bickering. Superficial anger, it took their minds off their mission, the weather and the other tensions that threatened to drive them mad.

The years they had known Guinevere, she had never given way to irrational hysterics. As queen, they considered her a wise and practical ruler, which meant that her accusations against Merlin were bound to have some merit. It also meant that they were riding to kill Merlin. An insane act, none of them wanted to face that fact. Nor, entertain the thought that Merlin had enchanted their king. Far less, the image of Merlin forcing Arthur to be his lover.

As if shunned lovers, themselves, Guinevere and Lancelot now seemed unable to tolerate each other and they rode farthest apart. Caught in the middle, the other ragtags felt as though their stolen glances pierced them like daggers.

A tense two and a half days travel, bickering seemed all they had left.

-

Side by side, Merlin and Arthur often sat propped against a distant wall in the first chamber. Another stormy day, they roasted a rabbit on a fire and watched Spring swirl and dance in her ultimate fling. Silent again, Merlin stared mesmerized by her powerful performance. He was also aware that Arthur often looked at him with a similar awe.

-

As Spring replenished her heavy clouds for another undulating downpour, a third time Gwaine said, “I’m certain that the Caverns are around here, somewhere. They must be through that thicker clump of trees, over there.”

Guinevere often shifted, growing weary of both the saddle and Lancelot’s daggers while Leon fussed, growing weary of Gwaine’s lead. “That’s what you said about the last thick clump of trees but we ended up back at the road," Leon bickered. "I reiterate. We need to go due west.”

Elyan fussed, too, to remind Leon. “We tried due west, twice, already,” he said.

Leon defended himself. “We didn’t go far enough.”

Gwaine countered. “That's because you started leading us south, again.” He justified why he had wrangled the lead from Leon. 

Lancelot had grown tired of their circles, too. And Guinevere's knives. He suggested, “Perhaps, if we approached the caves from the plains and then,” but Percival abruptly asked, “what’s that, over there?”

“Over where,” came a unison of voices that quickly went quiet when they looked where Percival looked.

Through the skeletons, plush green moss could be seen. The only moss they remembered seeing in the last hours of traveling in a circle. Not even on the north side of the trees. At a caution gait they went to investigate. The closer they got, they discerned that the moss covered concrete structures.

Human dwellings.

A village. They could see a dozen or so people scurrying about as they approached. All of the people wore similar green garments that seem to fade into the moss.

As they rode in, the little village appeared not much to look at. Etched far back into the trees, the few buildings were old and crumbling, much like the forty or so inhabitants that time seemed to have forgotten. Their aged, hunched and tattered bodies stood hiding inside their rickety wooden doorways or beside their old mossy structures. They peered out at the six young strangers traversing their muddy little thoroughfare.

“Not the friendliest bunch,” Gwaine commented, with his eyes dotting about at the numerous old faces that peered back at them.

“They seem frightened of us,” Elyan corrected him with his eyes dotting, too.

Leon corrected Elyan. “Not only frightened of us, they seem frightened. Period.”

An old concrete horse tether in front of a much larger building up ahead offered them some promise. Lancelot pointed toward it. “Perhaps, an inn of some sort,” he surmised.

Before the others dismounted, Lancelot braved to crack the door and peer inside. The building was indeed an inn, and the market, the granary, the chicken coop… in fact, it was the only business in the little town. As the six young strangers entered the inn, the aged owner noticed that they wore swords. He greeted the five men with caution. The lady, not so much. “What can I get for you,” he asked, almost cowering behind his old dilapidated counter and near a side door. If need be, he hoped to escape although he knew that he could not outrun them.

With exaggerated gaiety, Gwaine ordered, “A flagon of ale for me and my friends.” A bit frightened himself, he hoped that his jovial tone would calm the old man’s fears along with his own. Then, with exaggerated weariness, he flopped on a wooden bench at one of the two small tables. Elyan and Percival joined him while pretending to be equally as weary from their travel. Leon and Guinevere took the other small table to show the frightened old man that they meant him no harm. Lancelot sat close beside her in the eerie little village, despite their earlier daggers.

Still timid, the man spoke while praying that his words would not anger the swordsmen. “No ale," he said, "but I make an excellent sour cider?”

Gwaine’s face soured to hear but he feigned good humor. They needed to get directions from the frightened villagers. “Then cider, it is,” he said.

The old man scurried to fill small handmade mugs. “I’m Gatney,” he offered, now relaxed enough to introduce himself. By the time he finished serving them fried eggs and dried apple bread, he seemed as happy as a songbird. Before they finished eating, the entire village had eased inside the inn, by ones, twos and threes. The inn, market, granary, chicken coop was also the town meeting hall. Benches surrounded the walls and the aged, green-clad villagers took their normal seats. Whispering their curiosity among themselves, they stared at the youthful strangers.

The old innkeeper seemed excited to explain his townspeople’s curious though frightened faces. “Visitors never come to Wickedcrest,” he said, fluttering behind his counter, along with his cooped chickens. “Not for over four hundred years, now. You see, Wickedcrest is wicked.”

“Yes. Wicked,” repeated the old villagers, nodding as if with one head and one mind.

The six young strangers now stared at the old people, instead. “Four hundred years,” Guinevere exclaimed, speaking for her party’s collective disbelief.

“T’is true, t’is true,” Gatney declared. “You see, we’re all cursed.”

“Yes. Cursed,” repeated the villagers and with their heads slowly bobbing, again.

The ragtags grew more nervous, thinking they had stumbled into a nest of loons. Their thoughts were cemented when Gatney said, “she won’t let you in. Nor will she let us leave.”

Unable to leave! The ragtags grew downright frightened, now fearful that they were trapped, somehow. Guinevere seemed more in shock. “She,” she uttered, staring at the old man. 

“T’is Blodeuwedd,” Gatney said. 

Guinevere gasped. Underneath the table, Lancelot grabbed her hand.

Outside, lightning crackled, thunder boomed and the overcast skies started to pour, once more.

-

Arthur spoke while sitting and watching Spring dance. "Merlin," he said, somewhat pensive. "I now understand why you've always detested hunting. We're all a part of her, aren't we?" 

A sense of pride overcame Merlin and he looked around at Arthur. After years of teaching, finally, the royal prat was beginning to understand but he refrained from retort at Arthur's glorious awakening. "I don't detest hunting," he explained. "Even a varmint must kill. But only to survive. Not for the sport of it."

Arthur furled his lip at him. "Are you saying that I'm beneath a varmint," he asked, with fake offense.

"Well, not the common sense of one," Merlin joked but quickly added, "until now." He tried to prevent the cuff on the head that he knew was coming.

Arthur's hand landed on his naked thigh, instead. He playfully squeezed it but Merlin suddenly stood. "Come," he said with a big smile.

Intrigued and alarmed, Arthur looked up at him. "Where are we going," he insisted.

"Outside," he answered in a rush for the exit. Over his shoulder, he declared, "Nor the common sense to stay out of a lightning storm!" Never had he dared to mingle sensuously with Spring's ultimate intercourse. Only, with her afterglows. His first time, he wanted to share her ultimate power with Arthur and he was sure that Arthur wanted to share her ultimate power with him. 

Almost giddy with fright, adventure, awe and thrill, Arthur quickly rose, eager to follow. Running for the steps, they headed for the cliff top.

-

Inside the old tavern in Wickedcrest, Gatney’s eyes lit with delight. Over a hundred years since he last mentioned their tale, the town’s folk all knew it well. “Blodeuwedd cursed us in our youth. Wicked, she said. You see, those of us, here, often fornicated in the caverns. Fornicated, in what she said was the home of her pure Emrys. You see, we didn’t consider it wickedness because Blodeuwedd had fornicated there, herself. But I guess she saw it as such and overnight, we woke up old. Cursed, we were. Our other villagers fled from us. Our children, too. All ran away when old enough to survive on their own. They left us behind. Left us here to wait. To wait for the fornicating king to come and take our place,”

“King,” the knights shouted in unison as their hands grabbed their sword pommels to obviously a threat. “Which king,” Leon demanded. Lancelot had already stood. He felt Guinevere’s hand and arm literally quaking with trembles. “We’ve heard enough,” he insisted as he beckoned for her to stand and leave with him.

Gatney answered Leon’s demand. “The once and future king, of course,” he said when suddenly his features grew ecstatic to deduce the swordsmen’s defense. “You know him, don’t you,” he asked in his excitement. “You know the king!”

The aged villagers became hysterical. They rose to their feet, shuffling at top speed toward the strangers. In voices mixed with fright, excitement and reverence, they pleaded like Gatney, repeating, “You know him, don’t you?… You know the king!…” Their decrepit hands reached out to touch, to feel the strangers, whom they hoped had brought them news of their release. Over four hundred years they had waited. Waited for youth or death, they didn’t know which but they all prayed the wait was over. Reaching and touching them, they continued to beg, “…you know him, don’t you?… you know the king!…”

The ragtags all stood, now terrified. Still pommeling their swords, they quickly encircled their queen. Pushing their circle through the hunched and green-clad bodies, they maneuvered for the door. With the villagers following them and still pleading, “you know him, don’t you?… you know the king!…,” they rushed for their mounts and within seconds, they were galloping out of Wickedcrest.

Dashing as fast as possible through the pouring rain and skeletal trees, they finally calmed enough to stop their horses and catch their breaths. Circling the animals to look back, Gwaine demanded, “What in hell was that!”

“No," Percival replied. "What in hell is this,” he asked. Another strange event was happening just to the west of them. Above the skeletons, lightning bolts were shooting upward and high into the sky. Noises, like laughter, started to accompany the bolts.

Not so quick to ride in to investigate, this time, they cautiously approached and then dismounted with swords drawn. In the pouring rain, they eased closer toward the strange lighting bolts and sounds when they found themselves coming toward the end of the trees. Spread before them, the leafless branches gave way to endless grey sky. And a cliff top.

A flurry of emotions consumed them, all. Fear made them crouch. Awe made them stare. Excitement pounded their hearts. Disbelief ajared their mouths. The truth plummeted their guts. Guinevere openly cried. Tears mingled with the rain on Lancelot’s face as he cried for her… Squatting shocked inside the treeline, Guinevere and her ragtags gave no notice to the storm beating down and drenching them to the bone. Their eyes stayed, fixated on the clifftop straight ahead.

Arthur and Merlin stood together. Completely naked. Loins joined and moving in rapid sway and faces turned skyward, they held their hands toward the heavens as lightning sparked visibly from their fingertips and high into the sky. Amid their crackling bolts, their jubilant laughter rode the winds and rains.


	14. Destiny

Crouched with swords drawn, the ragtags continued to gape and wait, just inside the trees. They waited for the dreaded order to charge the ridge. A crime of high treason was being committed. They waited, ready to engage in battle. And they waited…

No order came. Guinevere abruptly turned and walked away. She headed for their mounts. A wise move by their queen, they knew that rushing the ridge was bound to fail. What they needed was a plan. A carefully constructed strategy, if they hoped to capture Merlin alive. Especially when the queen had promised to give him a fair and impartial trial.

With their myriads of emotions, they continued to gawk while listening to their exhilarating laughter. No doubt, Merlin was a powerful sorcerer. One powerful enough to send lightning bolts through Arthur, who stood glued to his backside. Apparent to them, the enchantment stemmed from their joined loins but nothing they could do, or even sure they wanted to, they finally eased from the treeline and followed their queen. She was headed home.

Riding back to Camelot, no one knew exactly what to say. Gwaine often opened his mouth to make a comment, a joke or bicker, again, but decided it wiser to let the queen speak first. After all, it was her heartache. Only, Guinevere’s mind seemed to have left them somewhere far behind. No longer crying, she now seemed numb. Her facial expression had become a wet blank slate. The others remained solemnly silent for her. At the same time, they were secretly relieved for Merlin. As for themselves, they were cowardly appreciative that they did not have to charge the ridge.

After riding for several hours, night started to fall. The rains had subsided, also. Guinevere remembered the trail from her trade travels and she finally spoke. With no emotions, she said, “I believe there’s a village close by.”

Leon road point, again. "Um, Elwinth," he stammered at her abrupt words. “It’s about two kilometers to the southeast.”

“We must get dry or catch our deaths. We’ll seek food and shelter, there.” She then fell silent, again. Riding at her side, Lancelot clung to the hope that finally she was seeing reason. Maybe now, she would come away with him.

 

Patrol duties had taken Leon to Elwinth a few times. Once in the little village, he pointed the others toward the tavern and headed his horse toward another building. The clothier, to get them a dry change. In the tavern, Lancelot spoke for their party and discovered the village had only two rooms for let. A duplex, constructed out back but the innkeeper boast of the large comfortable rooms and a pleasant view of the trees and fields. Not the back of the tavern, he said, or the muddy thoroughfare. And the rooms had porches with benches… Lancelot interrupted his sales pitch. Despondent, he was not impressed. A single room would suffice, he said, but he requested extra blankets.

Just two bed, they discovered. Still, the room was large enough to sleep all six. With Elyan’s help, Lancelot moved one of the cots into a corner and used a blanket to make a drape. Privacy for the queen while keeping her close for her protection.

The other cot, they squeezed against the wall that shared the hearth. Anyone who cracked the door would see that bed first. Lancelot quickly claimed it as their initial line of defense. Those on the floor, sleeping before the hearth, became the second line of defense to protect the queen, in the far corner of the room.

Gwaine and Percival got a large blaze going in the fireplace and hung ropes to dry their clothes. No sooner had they all stripped, wrapped themselves in blankets and hung their wet clothes to dry, Leon returned with tunics, sleeping breeches and a sleeping gown for the queen. A peasant’s gown was all to be had but he was sure that Guinevere wouldn’t mind.

It took the innkeeper’s wife quite a while to prepare enough food for the party of six. A large group by Elwinth standards, between the clothes, food, room and livery, the town made more money than it had all month. The innkeeper, clothier and stable master were elated but Guinevere and her ragtags had no cheer.

Their bodies finally warming and bellies finally filled, the ragtags sat or reclined around the hearth. Nothing left to do, each silently thought on a strategy to capture Merlin. He was far too dear a friend to simply ambush and kill. There must be another way to get him out of the mess that he had gotten himself into, they all thought. With the queen snug and hopefully asleep behind the blanket, they finally started to speak. In very low voices.

Gwaine sought to justify what they had witnessed on the cliff top. “Merlin wasn’t exactly harming Arthur," he said, when suddenly he stifled laugher. “I'd say, he was giving the princess the thrill of his life.”

Leon stifled laughter, too, at the image of Arthur’s exhilaration. Amusement shook his shoulders as he managed to utter, “that must have felt amazing. I wouldn't mind that much pleasure, myself.”

Still fascinated, Percival added, “and have lightning come from my fingertips.”

“Fingertips, Percival,” Gwaine asked, now stifling laughter at his naivety. “We were thinking more, Arthur’s cock. I’d love to have my own buried to the hilt in someone powerful enough to make me shoot bolts.” Losing his struggle to stifle his laughter, he glanced at the hanging blanket while hoping that Guinevere could not hear them. In his glance, his eyes met Elyan's furrowing face.

Elyan was not sharing their laughter. With sympathy for his sister, he shouted in whispers at Gwaine. “This is not funny! How is she supposed to live with this knowledge,” he demanded.

Gwaine felt chastised but truth be told, and he did. “Seems to me, she’s already been living with the knowledge and for quite some time, now.”

Leon quickly contained his laughter to prevent a brawl on the floor. For Elyan’s sake, he said, “Gwaine, he's right. Merlin has bewitched Arthur and she has every justification to demand his head.”

Percival was already trying to think of a practical solution and he offered, “Maybe, if we all talked to Merlin? Convinced him to break his spell?”

“It’s too late for that,” Elyan objected. “Even if he left Camelot, it would still be too difficult for Gwen,”

Gwaine quickly countered. “But banishment is still a far better sentence than death. I say, we give Percival’s suggestion a try.”

Deep in the shadows, Lancelot finally spoke. His back propped against the wall, he sat on the bed beside the hearth. “It’s not that simple,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone and then fell silent, again.

The others stared toward the bed at him, waiting for him to expound. Finally, Gwaine asked, “What’s not so simple.” He peered harder into the shadows beside the hearth while losing his last traces of humor at Lancelot’s subdued demeanor.

Slow to respond, Lancelot gave a long gaze across the room, looking over their heads. He stared at the blanket that shielded Guinevere. In a voice filled with longing and love and sadness for her, he said, “Merlin will never leave Arthur's side. Not even on pain of death. Nor did he bewitch Arthur.”

The crackling fire became the only sound now heard as they waited for Lancelot to explain away what they all had witnessed.

Sighing, Lancelot shifted his back against the wall in preparation for his words. He had sworn to keep Merlin’s secret but his secret was already out. Perhaps now, it would save his life, he hoped, and he slowly started his explanation. “Since I first arrived in Camelot, I’ve known about Merlin’s magic. He was born with it. He’s also convinced that it is his destiny to protect Arthur. None of us can imagine the sacrifices that he’s made or the courage that he’s had to summon to keep Arthur alive. Especially, in a kingdom that would see Merlin dead…”

Lancelot stopped and stared at the hanging blanket again as the others gazed upon him in the darkness as they had gazed upon the cliff top. In total awe. Lancelot returned to their waiting faces. Low and slow, he continued. “In Wickedcrest, today, those people were not as insane as you would believe. The old man mentioned Blodeuwedd’s pure Emrys, to whom she said the Caves of Caerleon was his home. Merlin is Emrys. The Cailleach called him such, before she released me from the spirit veil. The Druids also consider him the greatest sorcerer to ever live…”

Deep in the shadows with eyes glistening by the firelight, Lancelot stared at the blanket again but this time, as if to see beyond it. Speaking mainly to Guinevere with hopes that she could hear him, he said, “I’m convinced that Guinevere knows this to be true. Merlin didn’t bewitch Arthur. It’s been their destiny, all along. Upon the cliff top, today, we both learned that she can never compete with that destiny, nor ever compare, no matter how much she loves Arthur.”

Lancelot then reclined upon his back and stared at the ceiling. He implied that his story was finished but he was fully aware that the others remained awestruck, with many questions left unanswered. Those answer, they would have to deduce and then decide for themselves.

After several moments, they could hear Guinevere gently crying. In the little village of Elwinth, with his fellow knights watching from the floor, Lancelot rose and went to her. He still had nothing to hide.

 

Sunrise found Elyan sitting on the little wooden bench just outside the door. He gazed about the ground and at the dead brown grass giving way to new green shoots. Unlike the dead, the new blades gleamed with captured rain while thriving in the early morning sun after the storm.

Having sat for several hours, he waited for his companions to wake. Percival came in search of him, after noticing him missing from the floor. Yawning in the doorway, he said, “you’re up early.”

“For several hours, now,” he replied distantly while turning his gaze into the skeletons beyond the open fields. He knew the villagers would soon till the soil for another planting season.

Percival looked down at him with concern in his eyes. “Hours,” he asked, “You couldn’t sleep?" He implied the unsettling events from the previous day. He also hoped that Elyan would share his feelings about the night and he added, “Once Lancelot and your sister grew still, I guess I must have slept like a log.”

“They’ve gone,” he said, unsure of just how he felt.

“What,” he asked as he stared down at the side of his face to understand.

Elyan continued to gaze into the trees with a silent prayer that his sister would be safe. “They left quietly in the night,” he answered. “Lancelot said that you all would understand. Gwen gave me a message for Arthur. She said simply, tell him that she could not compete with his destiny.”


	15. The Ultimate Intercourse

The king was dead.

Merlin whispered one last time, “Arthur,” before sending the vessel into the lake of Avalon. Left standing on the shoreline, he was sure the grief trembling his body would break him apart. Arthur was dead. One side of a coin, half of himself was dead, too. His destiny had come to an end. He always knew that it would but knowing didn’t make his grief and loneliness easier to bear.

So many had died at Morgana’s hands. He remembered some of Arthur’s last words, “…peace at last… Thank you.”

After hours of standing, staring and remembering, Merlin felt as though something tugged at him to finally come away. He turned with one direction in mind. The Caverns of Caerleon. Blodeuwedd had said, “Emrys, welcome home.” He would go home, now.

 

Nearly a year, Merlin waited alone and in silence for Spring to come. Without Arthur to chase her wanton ways, he would now stare her in the face and let her passions claim him. If truly his kindred spirit, she would ensure that he rose again when Arthur rose, again. Perhaps in a century or two or maybe three…

He could not fathom the thought of walking aimlessly the earth until then. So, he stood in a chiseled opening and watched one of her most powerful storms roll in. With tears falling from his face, he remembered when he no longer feared her. He remembered Arthur’s exhilaration as they mingled with her ultimate intercourse. He remembered her new life bursting from the earth. He remembered feeling a part of Arthur and of all creation.

Now, he wanted to remember nothing.

As her first lightning crackled across the sky and her thunder boomed to wake the earth, Merlin absorbed her pain in his death. He arched his spine, held out his chest and raised his face toward her. “I’m here,” he shouted at Spring.

“Then, perhaps you should move away.”

Merlin whirled around. Unwilling to believe his eyes, he simply stared in shock. How could Spring be so cruel to give him illusions of Arthur, he damned her. Would she keep him alive through the centuries by dangling so small a hope? Like the ghost of Blodeuwedd, must he live a hundred lifetimes with only a ghost of Arthur, as well? Would she condemn him to the insanity and evil of Morgana, after all, because he was sure to go mad…

Arthur spoke through a sad and sympathy smile for his pain, his tears and his doubt. “Do you remember my mother’s words,” he asked as he reached out and stroked his face with efforts to reassure him. "She said that I was born of magic."

The hand was real, Merlin realized and he started to cry out loud. Arthur was real. He rubbed his face deeper into his touch, desperate for the love that it implied. Crushing his lips to splay hard kisses against his palm, he relished each tender stroke of Arthur's thumb as it wiped away his tears.

Arthur cupped his face, pulled him closer and spoke with his lips pressed against his ear. “I was born of magic, like you," he said. With a gaze out at the storm while giving his homage to Spring, he explained, "but it was your love during her ultimate powers made me her kindred spirit, too.”

 

 

Epilogue:

Lancelot kept his promise to her. He gave his life to make her happy. Guinevere was grateful to him for that but now Lancelot was gone and she knew that she made her own final journey in life. In her youth, she had relinquished so much. A king, a kingdom, her husband, her home. She had to know if she made the right decision to leave with Lancelot, so many years ago.

Traveling in her small buckboard wagon, she left it near the road and started walking through the trees. A long five-mile hike, she was exhausted when she came upon a crumbling village. Wickedcrest, she remembered. But it was long empty now. The old wooden doors had fallen off their hinges and cobwebs covered the counters and tables where they once sat and ate.

Guinevere remembered the old innkeeper. Gatney, she vaguely recalled his name but she would never forget his words. According to Gatney, Blodeuwedd called Arthur the fornicating king. It was then that Guinevere knew. Arthur was not bewitched. No spirit would have bewitched him to fornicate and then accuse him of fornication. Nor had Merlin bewitched him, either. Not after seven long years together. She also knew then that Merlin had not committed a crime and yet, he had suffered. He took blame for his weakness to deny fate but an impossible challenge, in itself.

As her eyes wandered the cobwebs, her mind wondered what had become of the old moss-clad people. Youth or death, she didn’t know which but in either case, they had been released. Continuing on her journey, she knew that she was approaching the cliff top. She also knew that once again, Blodeuwedd had let her in. All others, she sent in circles.

When Guinevere came upon the treeline and leaves that gave way to endless blue sky, she saw them. The moment she did, she remembered Hunith’s words. To herself, she uttered, “With thunder and lightning, earth creates her new life… in the ultimate intercourse.” Guinevere nodded that she finally understood. Blodeuwedd had given them both new life. Merlin, when just a baby and Arthur, when a grown man. It had been their destiny, all along.

In her age and wisdom, she understood her own destiny, now. It had never been to marry Arthur. Against all odds, fate had tried to keep them apart. She and Arthur had done the fornicating. Had fornicated against fate. For, Blodeuwedd had already wed Arthur to her “pure Emrys” since the first season of time. As Guinevere marveled upon them, now, she felt proud and grateful that she had made the right decision to leave with Lancelot, so many years ago.

Still glowing young and golden, much like the day that they first met, Arthur and Merlin stood high upon the clifftop while gazing together into forever.


End file.
